


Welcome to Vampireville, USA, Darcy Lewis

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-06-25 23:39:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 77,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15651285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Darcy Lewis is dead. Well, fake dead. There was this Hydra threat (it's always something, right?), so she's been separated from her BFF Jane and sent to assist these ex-fake SHIELDRA agents who are posing as private investigators now. Phil Coulson fixed her up with a new identity and a new location: Forks, Washington. You've heard of Forks, right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing!

“I’m here for”—the fortysomething man in the dark suit checked his clipboard—“the body of Darcy Elizabeth Lewis? The family requested a quick burial, no embalming,” he said.

“Are they observant Muslims?” the hospital administrator said.

“I really couldn’t say,” the man replied. He was patient and polite as his assistant and an orderly loaded the body into the funeral home’s van. “Thank you,” he told the administrator.

 

When he unzipped the body bag in the funeral home van, she huffed out an exhale. “Was all that really necessary, Agent iPod Thief?” Darcy Lewis asked Phil Coulson.

“Faking your death is serious business, Miss Lewis,” Phil said.

“He always says that when he helps someone fake their death,” Skye said from where she’d clamored noisily into the passenger seat. A silent Melinda May was driving.

“A little decorum, Skye, you’re representing Peaceful Rest Mortuaries,” Phil chided.

“Decorum?” Darcy snarked, coughing. The death faking drug made your throat dry.

“He talks like he’s a hundred,” Skye said, as May drove.

“May has an excellent poker face,” Darcy whispered to Phil.

“I know,” Phil said.

“He just says that because he’s owed me a poker debt since 2004,” May said.

“No one gets my Cap cards,” Phil said.

“Oh, wait, Cap says hi,” Darcy told Phil. “He and Nat helped stash Jane at that observatory.”

“You and Jane will be reunited once this new Hydra threat is over,” Phil said.

“We’re going to talk everyday. Tony made us an encrypted Stark skype thingamajig,” Darcy said.

“You know Tony?” Skye asked. “I bet his network is impressive.” They talked about data and artificial intelligence until Phil cleared his throat.

“I think that will be fine,” Phil told Darcy. “We’re going to place you somewhere safe with people I trust.”

“Clint and Laura?” Darcy said hopefully. She loved Clint and Laura. She’d visited them on the farm once.

“Uh, no,” Phil said.

“Decidedly not Clint and Laura,” Melinda May said crisply. She sounded amused.

“You know, she’d look great as a redhead,” Skye mused. “If we’re doing a disguise.”

“Copper or raspberry?” May said.

“Raspberry,” Phil and Skye said in unison.

“Do I get a vote?” Darcy asked, still sitting in the body bag.

  


***

One drugstore stop and a complicated set of chemical processes later, Darcy looked at herself in the mirror. “How is purple hair less conspicuous again?” she asked Skye. Skye had lightened Darcy’s hair with bleached streaks, given her sideswept bangs, and then tinted it all the color of grape jelly.

“It’s Plum Passion. You’re hiding in plain sight, especially where you’re going,” Skye said. “I’ll put these jars of Manic Panic in your go bag, you’ll need to refresh the color. Also, I’ve got you new glasses. Leopard print cat eyes”—Skye wiggled them—“and grey with rhinestones. Which do you like?”

“Both?” Darcy said. They were adorable in a Jeanine from _Ghostbusters_ way. “Do you know where I’m going?”

“Two ex-SHIELD agents who are posing as PIs in Washington until this all blows over,” Skye said. “They were deep in Hydra, but they helped with the Triskelly-whatever thing. Now they’re doing surveillance of cheating spouses and whatnot. You’re going to be their office assistant.”

“Great. I am Jeanine from _Ghostbusters_ now,” Darcy said. Skye seemed to find that genuinely funny.

It wasn’t until the Bus was in the air for an hour that Darcy realized they were heading to the other Washington. “I’m not going to DC?” Darcy asked FitzSimmons. She found watching them in the lab oddly soothing. Fitz was too tidy, but otherwise, it was more like being home with Jane. Darcy sat on a lab table and kicked her legs. Fitz gave her a look of disdain and Darcy rolled her eyes at Simmons, who smiled back. Simmons was a sweetie. She must’ve taken pity on Darcy.

“I’m afraid not,” she said in her girlishly pleasant accent. “But I think you’ll like where you’re going. You’ll find it amusing.”

“That’s one word for it,” Fitz said with a note of scorn in his voice.

 

“Can we take Lola?” Darcy said. “Pretty please? Plllllleeeeease?” she begged Phil. She’d seen Lola in the bay of the Bus and wandered into Phil’s office to talk to him.

“No,” Phil said crisply. “Lola’s too conspicuous.” He was doing paperwork.

“But I’ve always wanted to ride in Lola,” she told him, batting her eyelashes. She leaned over and rested her chin on the edge of the desk. “Please?” She gave him a face that she imagined resembled the puppy she’d rescued in Puente Antiguo.

“You just saw her today,” Phil said neutrally, tapping his laptop screen. He adjusted his reading glasses and peered at the screen.

“Phil, I’ve wanted to ride in Lola before I even knew she existed. In my dreams,” she said. “That is a dream car.”

“She is,” Phil said, giving her a fractional smile.

“Can I drive?” Darcy asked.

“Nope,” Phil said.

 

***

Darcy and Phil were in Lola--she’d said goodbye to Skye, FitzSimmons, and even gotten a few kind words from Melinda May--headed up an isolated and winding Washington state road. There was nothing to look at but trees. Darcy had given up on her dreams of being relocated to Seattle or somewhere cool. But she could always have fun with Phil. In the twenty minute drive in the dark, Darcy introduced him to Postmodern Jukebox’s retro-inspired song covers and praised Lola effusively. “I know,” Phil said, as happily as Darcy had ever seen him, “she’s a great car.”

“I want an 1959 Impala when I win the lottery,” Darcy told him. “And Jane will get new lab stuff.”

“You have a plan for winning the lottery?” Phil asked curiously.

“It’s a fun game to play when you’re broke in the desert,” Darcy said, as the wind ruffled her hair.

 

It was eleven-fifty-three at night when they finally saw the sign. “Please tell me I misread the sign that said _Welcome to Forks_ , Phil?” Darcy said in horror. “You’re leaving me in the town from the _Twilight_ stuff?”

“No one will ever look for you here,” Phil said reassuringly.

“You’re enjoying this too much. I want to go to Iowa. Please? I take back everything I ever said about corn being tasteless and getting stuck in your teeth,” Darcy said. “I love wheat! I’ll help Clint with all the chores! I’ll even go to church or whatever. Or the state fair where all the boring presidential guys go and they have the butter cow. Please, Phil, just don’t leave me in _Twilight_ town.” She was whining now. Phil shook his head, chuckling. They passed a logging truck.

“You’ll be perfectly safe in Forks,” he said.

  


***

It was a really small town. Like, micro. But there was clearly some growth from vampire tourism along the main street. Phil drove Lola past a row of older two and three-story brick buildings, finally stopping at one with a gravel parking lot beside it. He sighed. “I hate gravel,” he muttered. “It’s hell on paint work.”

“Park on the side street?” Darcy suggested. “I don’t mind the walk.” They did that instead and Phil even helped carry her bags. Skye had gotten her polka dot luggage that matched her new hair color as a cheer-up present. They were going to Skype, too. Darcy had plans to watch _Real Genius_ with her once they were settled in. Skye hadn’t seen it yet.

“The office is at ground level, you’ll live upstairs in your own one-bedroom studio,” he said. “The door should be unlocked. They’re expecting us.”

 

“This is it,” Phil said, when Darcy saw the words “Associated Investigations” painted on the glass windows at street-level on one office in the block. The PI office had its blinds closed and the frosted glass in the door made it impossible to see what she was walking into. Darcy knocked, feeling weirdly nervous. The door opened slightly at her touch.

“Hello?” she said.

“Just go in,” Phil said. “It’s us,” Phil said, more loudly.

“Come on in,” a male voice called.

 

There were two men sitting at desks in the main room of the dingy office. The dark haired one looked up when they entered, but the tall one continued to read his newspaper as if they weren’t there. Tall guy had one of the surliest faces Darcy had ever seen. Dark haired guy was grinning.

“You’re late,” the dark haired guy said. “It’s after midnight.”

“I didn’t expect you to have anywhere to be,” Phil said.

“I like to be home before the people who think they’re actually vampires,” the guy replied. “What have you brought me, Phil? This is the new office girl?” the dark haired guy said skeptically. Darcy didn’t like him already. He looked like a wiseass who got too aggressive with women in bars and thought his handsome face justified it.

“Miss Lewis will be your office administrator,” Phil corrected.

“Hello,” Darcy said coolly to the dark haired guy. “Darcy Lewis--or Darcy Allen here,” she said. They’d decided that it would be easier if she kept her first name.

“Hello, Darcy Allen,” he said. “Brock Rumlow,” he said, pointing to his own chest, “and that is Jack Rollins.”

“Hi,” she said to Rollins, just in case it was rude not to acknowledge him and he’d murder her in her sleep or something. He looked positively homicidal and had ridiculously long legs stretched out beside his desk. Of course the tall guy was intimidating. Tall people had all the luck and they could reach the third shelf in the their upper kitchen cabinets. He nodded in greeting, barely looking up from his newspaper.

“Jack’s not a talker,” Rumlow said. He cracked his knuckles.

“I’m just here to lay low,” Darcy said. She could already tell the second guy was a talker.

“Yeah, you look real inconspicuous there, sweetheart,” Rumlow said, eyeing her hair and clothes. Darcy thought his gaze lingered on her chest for a fraction of a second longer. “You’re sending me crazy haired Sigma Phi girls now?” he asked Phil.

“I’m a thirty year old with a BA and I’m 12 credits into an MA in political science, okay?” Darcy said defensively. She’d been taking online classes in Norway.

“Well, that makes the hair better,” the fake PI said sarcastically.

“It’s a disguise, you ex-Hydra nimrod,” Darcy snapped back. “What are you, like, a hundred?” Out of the corner of her eye, Darcy thought the silent one grinned ferally.

“She won’t give Jack a reason to talk,” Phil said calmly, as if they weren’t bickering already.

“Sure,” he said. “She’ll fit right in in this freakshow town,” Rumlow said. “It’s full of loggers, kids with weird hair, and moms with inappropriate crushes on teen vamps. At least during the tourist season.”

 

Rollins suddenly stood up, gave Darcy a truly terrifying grin, and said, “I’ll take your bags upstairs, love. Glad to have you.” He took her suitcases and disappeared.

“He’s from Australia?” Darcy said, surprised. “And nice?”

“That’s why he don’t talk, sweetheart,” Rumlow said. “The accent’s a problem. Could never lose it completely, even when we were undercover in Hydra.”

“What, there are no Australians in Hydra?” she asked.

“Surprisingly few,” Rumlow said.

“As you can see from Jack, they’re a cheerful lot,” Phil said wryly, “so, they tend not to want to try world domination.”

“Too busy drinking, surfing, or eating goddamn Vegemite,” Rumlow muttered. “You want coffee, Phil?” he asked.

“No, I have to go, the Bus is waiting,” Phil said.

 

Darcy followed Phil outside into the street. “You’ll be all right here,” Phil told her. His expression was kind. Darcy felt a wave of emotion. She really did like Agent iPod Thief. She threw her arms around him.

“Please watch out for Jane?” she asked. ”Take care of yourselves, too? I like the Bus people.”

“I’ll keep Jane safe,” Phil said. Behind them, a midnight walking tour of Forks passed. A group of women were giggling and chatting.

“I want to see the high school!” a woman yelled. “Team Edward!”

“Team Jacob!” the woman next to her said, more loudly. The whole group started to hoot and yell.

“Do they serve them alcohol?” Darcy wondered aloud. Phil grinned.

“Probably. See?” Phil said, “you’ll blend in fine. Take care, Darcy. You can trust Rumlow and Rollins. They’re good agents. Some of the best.”

“I’ll miss you,” Darcy said.

“I appreciate that,” he said, squeezing her hands.

 

Darcy watched him walk down the street and waited for Lola to turn the corner. When Phil pulled up to the stop sign, he warned to her to behave. “Don’t make too much trouble,” he said.

“I will!” she called, giving him a little double wave. She watched Lola’s taillights fade into the dark. Just then, the door behind her opened and Brock Rumlow stuck his head out.

“Get inside, sweetheart, you don’t want to get bitten on your first night in town,” he said dryly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone actually know what freesia smells like? I've always wondered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all the comments & kudos already!

Rumlow showed Darcy up to her new studio apartment. “I’m in 2A, Jack’s in 2B,” he said. She was 2C.

“You’re not together?” Darcy asked, deadpan. She had a feeling Rumlow would be sensitive about his sexuality. The man radiated machismo. Even that name was like something from a pulp novel: _Brock._ Who named their kid something that sounded like a 1940s film noir character?

“Together?” he said. Rumlow frowned. Bingo! She was right. “Why do people assume that? I wish people would stop saying we’re a couple,” Rumlow grumbled, “I’ve got no problem with people thinking I’m dating any other guy, but not Jack.”

“No?” Darcy said. He really didn’t seem to recognize that she was screwing with him.

“Jack has a serious boyfriend back in DC. It’s disrespectful to Roger when people gossip that we’re messing around on missions,” he grumbled. “Also, we’re good friends, It’s too weird. Like someone assuming your dad is your husband.”

“Oh?” Darcy said innocently. She was looking at the cabinets in the kitchenette. Thank God the ceilings were lowish, so she could reach them.

“Jack put a few dishes in for you already. That wouldn’t bother you? Being mistaken for your father’s girlfriend?” Rumlow asked her. He was leaning against the kitchen island.

“Thanks. Oh, no, it really doesn’t,” she said.

“No?” he said.

“My dad walked out on my mom when she was pregnant with me and disappeared. We’ve never actually met, so, I really don’t know what it’s like to have a dad, much less be squicked out by somebody thinking he’s my other kind of daddy,” Darcy said.

“That’s too bad,” Rumlow said, almost awkwardly.

“Is it? I really have no idea,” Darcy said. “Like I said, no dad. I’m not one of those women who responds to that by looking for love in all the wrong places. Does this town have a Target?” she asked.

“No, no Target. Looking for love in all the wrong places?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Damn and blast,” Darcy said. “I really wanted a freaking Target. Yeah, you know the stereotype? Daddy issues, needs male attention, etc., etc. That’s not me. My mom went to night school, raised me as a single parent, and became a sheriff’s deputy. She’s a total hardass who thinks men are superfluous to requirements. I sort of feel that way about dads now.”

“Your mother is an LEO?” Rumlow said. He looked surprised. She smiled at him, then turned back to the cabinets.

“Uh-huh, my mom and all four of my uncles. They wanted me to become, like a crime scene tech, but I don’t really like uniforms and I wanted to get out of town. I did work as a 911 dispatcher for six months after high school to save up money for Culver--I graduated in January and didn’t start at Culver until August. My hometown’s small, like Forks. Anyhow, that means I’m roughly familiar with filing, CPR, and the necessity of coffee for everyday functioning and I won’t get in your way too much. This is just a temp job until I can go back to my real life,” she said. When she looked back at him, his expression was unreadable.

“You want a coffee pot?” Rumlow asked suddenly. “I’ve got an extra.” He sounded weirdly sincere about it. Oh no, Darcy thought, is that parental abandonment pity? She shouldn’t have mentioned it. She’d assumed he was would be all macho dude about it, shrug it away, and possibly piss her off a little at worst. She’d miscalculated and now he was going to be _nice._ Yeeesh. He probably had two loving parents who adored each other or something and assumed she was grief-stricken. But it was impossible to grieve something you’d never actually had; like explaining a chicken to an alien and then expecting them to crave chicken tenders.

“Thanks. I would appreciate that,” Darcy said, trying to sound as zen and straightforward and non-grief-stricken as Phil. Mr. Machismo left to go find the coffee pot and Darcy sighed. If there was no Target, there was probably no twenty-four hour grocery store, either. She was dependant on these dudes for caffeine and breakfast, at least. She needed music to unpack. Luckily, she still had a rehabbed iPod that Skye had stashed for her--Phil had taken her phone again--and a little travel speaker.

 

Soon, Darcy was unpacking cheerfully to the sounds of the early 2000s. The Cardigans were singing “Lovefool” when she found her washi tape. Darcy reached into her messenger bag and pulled a stack of photos from inside one of the pockets. She washi-taped the photo of Jane and her in New Mexico to the fridge. She taped the rest of the photos over top of a print of a duck hanging on one wall. It had probably once been hotel art. Once all of the duck but his face was covered in photos of Jane, Erik, Thor, and other assorted Avengers and friends edged in bright washi tape, Darcy smiled. Much better. She started to put away her clothes in the small dresser. The sheets on the bed were obviously freshly washed and had been folded neatly. She thought those might be military corners. She’d never actually seen them before.

  


***

Downstairs, Jack Rollins looked at the ceiling. “That’s Natalie Imbruglia singing, that is,” he said. “She’s from Sydney. Was on my mum’s favorite soap.” For Jack, this qualified as a major speech.

“Uh-huh. New girl likes music,” Rumlow said. He was looking in the office cabinets for the extra coffeemaker. He knew it was down here somewhere.

“What you looking for, mate?” Jack asked.

“Coffeemaker,” Rumlow said.

“Third cabinet, back on the left,” Jack said. He went back to his newspaper.

“Thanks, Jack,” Brock said, bounding up the steps. Jack tilted his head quizzically and listened to the pace of his partner’s footsteps. Curious, he thought.

 

When he got to the apartment door, Darcy was looking out her windows. She’d pulled up the ancient wooden blinds. ”Hey,” Brock said. “Found the spare coffeemaker.”

“May Frigga bless you and all your children,” Darcy said in an oddly solemn-sounding voice, like she was saying a real benediction.

“I don’t have any children,” Brock said. He couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not.

“What’s going on down there?” Darcy asked. “It looks like two guys arguing. Is that, like, serious?” she asked. “They’re wearing capes and carrying lanterns.”

Brock came to the window. “Nah,” he said. “The little round one is Bob, the tall, lanky one is Joe, they run competing historic haunted house tours in the oldest part of town. They just yell at each other a lot on Fridays between midnight and one.”

“Haunted house tours?” Darcy asked.

Through the window glass, Brock could hear Joe yelling, “You swine! You lout!” at Bob. He was making an obscene gesture with his lantern hand.

“Offshoot of the vampire walking tour industry. You gotta do something different for the repeat traveler,” Brock said, shrugging. “They go for the history angle. It’s popular. Goth kids like history.”

“Huh. People come here more than once?” Darcy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Some of the diehards come every year,” Brock said. “The town has a week-long celebration.” He flicked his eyes away from Darcy. He was trying not to be distracted by how damn pretty she was, behind the diversion of the crazy hair and the tacky glasses. Not just pretty. Beautiful. She had a wide, lush mouth, creamy skin, and eyes like the damn ocean. He’d realized it a few minutes before, when he’d been watching her look around and talk about superfluous men. She’d smiled at him. He’d looked at her--really looked--and felt a sudden, jolting spike of arousal. Which was dangerous. It wouldn’t be polite to fuck the new office admin. It would feel good, but it wasn’t right.

“I’m going to make some, I need my fix,” she told him. “You want some, since I’m stealing your coffee?” she asked cheekily and then waltzed right into his apartment.  

“Sure,” he said, following her. She looked just as good from the back, dammit. Of course, she thought men were superfluous; she’d probably been chased by droves of men since she turned sixteen or some shit.

“Where are your filters?” she asked. He was momentarily confused. Had he vocalized the thought, he wondered? He realized she meant the damn coffee filters.

“What? Oh yeah,” he said. He got a stack of them, plus a can of espresso for her.

“Thank you, that’s super generous, dude,” she said, when he also retrieved half and half and sugar packets.

“You’ll have to live with my espresso. What is that smell?” he asked, as they crossed the hall again and something that smelled like hot sugar flooded his nose.

“Smell?” she asked. “Do I stink?” She sniffed at her underarms and he almost laughed.

“No, it’s sweet, like cookies,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oh,” she said. “It’s just my perfume. No biggie. It’s cotton candy. ”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Cotton candy.” He pushed away a fantasy of burying his face in her tits and drowning in a wave of sweet scent and soft flesh while she straddled him.

“What? Too much estrogen for you?” she said archly. “Don’t want to catch girl cooties?”

“Yeah,” he said dryly. “It’s a lot of estrogen.” He licked his lips involuntarily.

“You sure you want to drink girl-made coffee, Mr. Macho?” she asked snarkily.

“I think I can handle it,” he said. Of course, Phil had to find the one stunningly gorgeous lab assistant with the body of a pin-up in America to leave in Forks, Brock thought; Phil seemed to find ridiculously attractive people as if by accident. All his Bus crew looked like models, even the lab geeks and that doe-eyed hacker girl.

 

The coffee was brewing when she asked if the windows opened. “These places don’t have A/C, do they?” she said.

“Nope, no A/C in this rainy hellscape,” he said. “I’ll see about the window, but don’t leave it open while you sleep. It’s too dangerous. Keep ‘em locked.”

“Yes, Mom,” she snarked.

“Phil will be upset with me if you happen to die, even if it’s an accidental open window drowning,” he said, going over to the window, unlatching it, and pushing it open. It had warped slightly and opened with a crack. Warm night air rushed in. “There you are,” he said, looking back at her.

“Rainy hellscape is a new one, though,” she said. “Especially after Puente Antiguo. Thanks, though.”

“You’re welcome. Just wait, it’s been a dry month,” he told her.

“A dry spell in Twilight town?” she said, coming to stand by the window. Outside, a group of drunk tourists were wandering down the sidewalk.

“Edward! Where are yoooooooou?” a woman yelled. “I smell good! I’m wearing freesiaaaaaa!”

“Freesia?” Brock said. “What the fuck are they always talking about freesia for?” He’d heard it all over town.

“You’re the superspy agent, you tell me?” Darcy teased.”You haven’t read the glittery vampires book?”

“No,” Brock said. He’d sworn he never would.

“It’s what Bella smells like to her hundred year old boyfriend, of course,” Darcy said. “He thinks she smells good enough to eat. Literally.”

“I didn’t realize the vampire boyfriend was Cap’s age,” Brock said, standing up to fix his coffee.

“I thought I was making the coffee?” she asked. “Since I’m the office _girl_?” There was a distinct edge of sarcasm to her voice. He chuckled.

“I got this one, you can start being the coffee person tomorrow,” he said. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Lots of both, pleaseandthankyou. Ooooh, wait, did you just snark on Steve? They’ll take your citizenship away, my dude,” she told him. “All politicians love Steve. If they have their photo taken with him, their approval ratings go up 10-12% on average,” she said.

“And you know this how?” he asked.

“I did a data analysis for a class at Culver. When I met him, Steve thought it was so funny, he had it framed and now uses it as leverage whenever the aliens make things go boom. It’s helped the Avengers do PR in DC. That’s where I thought I was going, not here,” she said, peering down at the street. The drunk tourists were still milling around. “Is that a cardboard cutout Edward that woman is carrying?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah, they sell those for photos at the new occult gift shop,” Brock said, coming over and handing her the cup of coffee.

“Thank you. How do you know about that, but not the freesia?” Darcy asked quizzically.

“Some of the more, shall we say, religiously observant locals keep trying to close down the occult shop. The owner’s gone all in with baiting them, between putting black candles in the windows, selling pentagrams, and lifesize Edwards,” he said. “Two months ago, there was a small fire.”

“Arson? They were so mad about candles and Cutout Edwards, they set the place on fire?” she said.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “Or it could be bored teens.”

“Yeah, I could see that,” Darcy said. “They do stupid shit.” He nodded.

“The funniest part is that the religiously observant locals are, uh, protective of Edward’s ostensible Christian belief, not mad about the cutouts,” he said, grinning. “Or at least, that’s what their signs say.”

“Makes sense,” Darcy said.

“Yeah? How so?” he asked, curious. It was hard to resist the urge to lean close to her.

“He only kills bad humans in her defense, he refuses to sleep with his girlfriend until they’re married, and he wears khakis,” Darcy said. “He’s practically a missionary. Or a vampire-themed GAP ad.”

Brock snorted. He decided he needed to put some space between them if she was going to talk about the sex lives of fictional vampires and say the word missionary. He stepped back and looked around the room.

“This you normally?” he asked, spotting a weird makeshift photo display over the crappy duck painting. She had dark brown hair in all of them--much better looking than the stupid Kool-Aid hair, he thought--and was often with another woman. “Your sister?” he asked.

“No, that’s Dr. Jane Foster. She’s my bestie and my boss. My platonic soulmate, if you will. I’ve worked with her since New Mexico.”

“The one who found Thor?” he said, recognizing the name from SHIELD reports. Darcy nodded, smiling.

“Yup, we sorta hit him a little,” she said, “we were in a van, but not down by the river,” she joked.

“Motherfucker,” Brock said suddenly. A fact had emerged from recesses of his mind, where he’d stashed old SHIELD reports.

“What?” Darcy said.

“That makes you the one who tased Thor,” he said. “The assistant who got the jump on a six-foot tall Norse god. Phil and Barton talked about you. Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head and laughing.

“So you know not to get on my bad side,” Darcy said, crossing her arms and looking sternly at him. “Hey, I’m proud of that!” she said. He laughed harder. She was the least-threatening looking person he’d ever met.

“I’d always imagined you’d be taller,” he said finally.

  
  
***  


“You’re spending a lot of time with the new girl,” Jack said neutrally, when Brock came down to do a final check on the door locks that night. Fleeing Hydra and faking his own death in DC had made him security conscious.

“She made me coffee,” he said. “It was good coffee.”

“Was it your coffee?” Jack said wryly.

“Did you know she’s the one who tased Thor?” Brock said.

“That so? Bet that’s a bonzer story. Didn’t you always want to meet her?” Jack asked, turning a page in the newspaper.

“Something like that,” Brock said.

“Local theater’s showing a new movie this week,” Jack said.

“How old’s this one?” Brock asked. All they had was a discount two-dollar  theater attached to one of the tourist shops. It showed movies after they’d left everywhere else. You had to drive an hour into Port Angeles to see new movies in a multiplex.

“Came out last year,” Jack said. “You could take her to the movies.”

“Is there an Australian expression for ‘don’t shit where you eat,’ Jack?” Brock said.

“Lordy, I hope not,” Jack said, doing his best current American accent. He’d based it on those televised DC political hearings. He liked to listen to the TV for interesting voices. He hadn’t given up on blending in yet. One day, he was going to find the one American accent that he could do and use it for all his missions. He had hopes of doing more work for Phil soon.

“How many times have I told you that James Comey’s accent is not representative of American accents, it is weird?” Brock asked.

“I always thought it sounded quite normal, mate,” Jack said. He tried again. “Lordy, I hope there are tapes.”

“Weird as hell,” Brock muttered. “There’s something in the water in this place. I’m going to bed!” He went back upstairs to the apartments.

 

As he passed Darcy’s apartment, he heard the faint strains of music. He knocked. “Yeah?” she said, cracking it open. “What? I’m still a little pissed at you for laughing at me, dude.”

“Don’t forget to close your windows, sweetheart,” he said. As she went to close the door, he spoke again. “I’ve got one case in Port Angeles tomorrow, if you’d like to get some supplies, you could ride with me?” he offered.

“Oooooh, what kind of case?” she asked.

“Cheating spouse surveillance,” he said. “Most of them are there. Difficult to cheat in a town with 3,000 people, unless you like sneaking off to the woods.”

“Oh my God, you’ve surveilled people in the woods, haven’t you?” Darcy said, opening the door wider. He noticed she was wearing a little pair of shorts and a tank top that said “Raisin Cookies Gave Me Trust Issues.”

“Nice shirt,” he said. “Yeah, we do a lot of hiking. You don’t have to go for those, though. You can stay in the office, if you don’t like hiking.” She didn’t seem like the type, he thought.

“Just what are you implying? I can hike. I’ve been to Norway,” she said. “I walked five miles in the snow just to post letters and shit.”

“Five miles?” he said, looking at her legs. They looked soft, not sinewy. Really soft. Those thighs would feel good wrapped---no, he thought, focus.

“Shut up, gym rat,” she told him. “I see you implying I’m half-sloth. I’ll have you know it’s only 25%, okay?”

“I didn’t say anything. Please don’t tase me,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“I’m closing my door now,” she said, “but yes, I’ll go on your cheater’s roadtrip tomorrow. I want some apartment stuff. What time?”

“I’m trying to catch a guy around 2pm, so I was gonna leave at noon, unless you want to leave earlier?” he asked.

“Noon’s fine,” she said. “I’m not a morning person.”

“Don’t forget the windows,” he said.

“Whatevs, Mom,” she said, shutting the door in his face. He got a wave of her perfume again when the air was pushed into the hallway. He was in serious trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually don't put anything political in my stories, but "Lordy, I hope there are tapes," is such a weird phrase, I'm obsessed with it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Fine Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for the comments and kudos!

Darcy was startled from a deep sleep by a loud banging noise outside her window. She got out of bed and peered out the wooden blinds. It was 6am and the skies were a cold blue-grey. It looked like rain. A logging truck was stopped in the street and blocking traffic. The traffic of several other logging trucks, actually. The sound she’d heard was the trucker and several other motorists banging on something on the trailer. Maybe they were resecuring it? Darcy hoped they were. She hated following logging 18-wheelers on the highway; she’d seen _Final Destination_ enough to know that getting decapitated by a stray log was not how she wanted to leave this world. She checked the time at Jane’s observatory. Jane would be awake by now. She set the Stark tablet from Tony on the counter and set it up to video call Jane while she made a pot of the Rumlow dude’s espresso.

 

“Darce!” Jane said. “Boo-boo, it’s so good to see you and I love your hair---wait, why are you awake before it’s light outside wherever you are?”

“I was woken up by a logging truck, Janey bear,” Darcy said. “The hair was Skye’s idea.”

“A logging truck?” Jane said.

“Uh-huh,” Darce said. “I’m having _Lady and the Tramp_ flashbacks here. Logging trucks everywhere. It’s a log puller!”  Jane laughed. “Jane, Phil’s stuck me in the boonies. You’ll laugh so much when you find out where I am.”

“Do I get a clue?” Jane said.

“Oh yeah,” Darcy said, reaching into a drawer. Nice Jack had gotten her silverware. And cereal and milk, bless him, even if it was plain cornflakes and skim. These dudes were the fitness types. “Here’s your clue.”

“Is that a fork? My clue is a fork?” Jane said.

“Yup, a fork and logging trucks. More clues will be dispensed at regular intervals,” Darcy said jokingly. “Thank you for playing our game.”

“Is that my Lightning Sister’s voice I hear through the machine of The Man of Iron?” a voice boomed from over the speakers.

“Thor’s back?” Darcy said.

“Yup!” Jane said, beaming. “He came yesterday.”

“I bet he did,” Darcy said saucily.

“Darce!” Jane said, as the tablet moved and Darcy was treated to a very close-up shot of Asgardian princely nose hairs, before Thor got the angle farther from his head.

“My Lightning Sister! Are thou well?” Thor said. “Son of Coul has hidden you somewhere safe?”

“Very safe, my dude. Are you hanging around on Midgard?” Darcy asked politely.

“Ah, yes,” Thor said, sounding suddenly cautious. “I am afraid my brother has been exiled again. He is here with me.”

“Loki’s there?! I missed Loki by two days? Oh man!” Darcy said. Loki and Darcy were prison pen pals. She’d been writing him in Asgard jail since they’d met on a Jane and Thor visit and he’d made her a little magic goldfish as a pet. Well, not quite little. He was the size of a koi now. “How’s Mr. Fishy?” she asked. Phil had told her he couldn’t get a death certificate on a magical Asgardian goldfish and she’d had to leave him in Jane’s care.

“I am taking very good care of your fish of gold, my sister,” Thor said proudly. “Jane has tasked me with the feeding of him. He eats a great quantity of those flakes of the can.”

“Thanks, my bro. Please don’t feed him until he explodes, okay? I’m not sure he’d tell you if he was full,” Darcy said. Thor nodded solemnly. Darcy was seized by a sudden idea that Mr. Fishy would be the size of a tiger shark by the time she got back if Thor fed him. She had no idea about magical growth limits. Would he just grow exponentially?

“My brother would like to speak to you now!” Thor said, smiling happily.

“Okay, bye, Thor! Hug Jane for me?” Darcy said, waving at his nose hairs.

“I shall do so!” he said, beaming.

“Hello, Miss Lewis,” a wry voice said, as the tablet turned to reveal Loki’s bored expression. Offscreen, Darcy heard a squeal. “My brother appears to be hugging Dr. Foster now. Or perhaps attempting to murder her in the manner of a great python? It’s very difficult to tell at the moment,” he said dryly.

“Did you get in trouble again?” Darcy, fixing him with a stern look.

“It was merely a tiny spot of bother. My fa--Odin is behaving in a ridiculous manner. I wasn’t actually going to take the throne,” he said.

“No?” Darcy said, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at the tablet.

“Tragically, my mother is the only one who will listen. Your new hair color is quite fetching,” he said mildly. “It reminds me of my mother’s favorite Asgardian preserve. She is excessively fond of plumberries. It’s a pity, I do not think you have them on Midgard. They are quite delicious. Sweet, yet tart.”

“Stop doing innocent face at me and talking about your mama, Loki Odinson, I know a trick when I hear one,” Darcy said.  In response to her scolding, Loki merely looked more innocent. He leaned his chin on his fists on the countertop in Jane’s new lab and fixed Darcy with a pair of wide, little boy eyes.

“I am going by Laufeyson now, my dear Miss Lewis. I was really hoping you would be here,” he said. “Alas, I am unlucky.” He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, with the expression of a child whose favorite teddy bear had been taken away. It was oddly Precious Moments doll, Darcy thought. It was impossible not to melt a little at that face, especially if you possessed ovaries. He knew that, of course. He played up the Sad Prince for women, she’d noticed.

“Sure, my Prince,” Darcy said, grinning in spite of herself. “You miss me terribly,” she said. One, Darcy knew that man was an Odinson, through and through. He didn’t get his tricks from Frost Giants. Odin lied like breathing, Darcy had realized, the moment she laid two eyes on the one-eyed monarch; that’s how he’d ended up with a blue son in the first place. Loki was only _good_ at lying because he’d absorbed Frigga’s natural talent and elegance. Jane and Darcy were both in quiet agreement that Asgard would only get its shit together if Frigga ran the place, with an assist from Heimdall. Darcy hadn’t voiced it to Jane, but sometimes she imagined that there was some long-suppressed chemistry between Heimdall and Frigga. She had a mental soap opera that she’d picked up from one of her mother’s Oprah novels that involved Heimdall and Frigga finally falling into each other’s arms if Odin were to predecease his wife. Or maybe that was the plot of _Like Water for Chocolate_? Two, Darcy had a tiny--on this point she was insistent, despite Jane’s frequent scoffing--tiny crush on Asgard’s Naughtiest Prince. But she’d sworn, absolutely sworn, that she wouldn’t climb into bed with Loki. Given her luck with men, she’d probably fall in love with him and then he’d transform himself into Larry, a CPA in Cleveland, just to give her the slip. He was tricky like that, after all.

“I do miss you terribly,” Loki said, pulling Darcy back to the present moment. “It is possible,” he drawled, “theoretically, of course, that I was looking forward to this exile. I was hoping you might demonstrate how you tased my brother again? And perhaps we could have some of those cheese fries you have mentioned in your letters?” he said.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “Stay out of trouble on Earth and as soon as this threat is over, I’ll get to come back and have cheese fries with you, Loki.” She’d realized the best way to deal with him was just like Tony: he craved attention and something vaguely maternal from women. But with Loki, you had to bargain more carefully. Tony just wanted coffee, snacks, and fun new toys to play with; Loki invented loopholes that were positivity maze-like.

“Must I behave?” Loki said, sighing.

“You could always volunteer to help Phil with this Hydra situation? That would get me home faster,” Darcy said.

“Yes,” Loki said. “I could do that, couldn’t I?” The sudden cat-like gleam in his eye was alarming. Oh no, Darcy thought, I have made a mistake. A terrible mistake.

“Or not? You really don’t have to,” Darcy said, wishing there was a rewind button for life.

“Nonsense, I shall,” Loki said. “Also, I will monitor my brother’s care and feeding of Mr. Fishy for you, if you are concerned? Jane has told me that you were sad to leave him and that goldfish do not typically live long on Midgard, so you were afraid he would be gone when you returned. I was deeply touched.”

“Loki,” Darcy asked. “Just how big can Mr. Fishy get?” Loki shrugged.

“I’m afraid it is impossible to say,” he said. “But he can live an uncommonly long time, do not worry. He is no weak-willed Midgardian goldfish. Oh, here is Dr. Foster. She finally free of my brother’s clutches and wishes to speak with you?”

 

The tablet shifted back to Jane. She was beaming. “I’ve got it!” she said. “It’s a town with a food name, isn’t it? Like Tortilla Flats, AZ or Pie Town, NM? I googled!” She and Thor were beaming.

“What do we win, my Lightning Sister?” Thor asked cheerfully. “I would like some more of your red velvet cakes or perhaps another giant cookie? Jane once made me coupons for good behavi-- ow!” he said. Jane had elbowed him.

“I told you not to tell anyone about the sex coupons,” Jane said sternly. Darcy could hear Loki laughing somewhere nearby.

“Aaaannnnttttttt,” Darcy said, making a buzzer sound. “No one gets a sex coupon or a cookie. I am very sad to say I’m not in Pie Town, NM. It sounds lovely, but I am not there.”

“Did you know there’s actually a Hot Coffee, Mississippi?” Jane asked.

“Oh, Janey, don’t tease me, I long for the joys of Hot Coffee, Mississippi,” Darcy said. She was a warm climate girl.

 

***

When Brock went upstairs to see if Darcy was already awake at 8:30 am, he found her apartment door open. She was already dressed, listening to music and staring off into space at the kitchen island, coffee cup in hand. He leaned against the doorframe. “Who is that?” he asked. There was something familiar about the woman’s voice coming out of the speakers.

“Oh, hey, I mean, like good morning,” she said sleepily. “That’s Marilyn Monroe. It’s a song called “A Fine Romance,” she said, yawning.

“Well, come on downstairs, I’ll show you your new desk,” he said. “The office is closed on Saturdays, so it’s dead here.”

“Okay,” she said, standing up and following him. They paused as she shut her door.

“I’ve never heard anybody rhyme plastic and sarcastic before,” he said to Darcy. She smelled like cotton candy again. This close, he could practically taste it on his tongue. Maybe it was a profoundly stupid idea to spend the day with her. But it wasn’t like he could back out now, he reasoned. He had to.

“Marilyn was very talented,” Darcy said. “Her singing talent is really overlooked, but she worked at it.”

“I take it you’re a fan?” Rumlow asked, as they descended the steps.

“Isn’t everybody?” Darcy said. “What’s that sound?” Above their heads, there was a weird whooshing sound.

“Rain. How many times have you been Marilyn for Halloween?” he asked.

“Oh. Just once. I did recycle the white dress, though. One year, I was Cleopatra in it, too. You know what’s funny? Her voice coach said anybody could sing. We just have mental blocks about it and freeze up. A guy named Hal Schaefer. He thought opera came from Italy because Italians are more comfortable being emotive in public,” Darcy said.

“Do I look emotive to you?” Rumlow said dryly.

“More emotive than Jack,” she said, as they reached the office. “Italian on your mama’s side?”

“Both sides,” he said. “I took this name in SHIELD,” he said.

“You took the name _Brock Rumlow_? Why not Rock Flagstone?” Darcy said.

“Brock was my original name,” he said dryly. “Only the last name’s different.”

“Whoops. Sorry,” she said. She made an embarrassed face that he thought was actually cute. He liked cute.

“Nothing I haven’t heard before, sweetheart,” he said. “Here’s your new desk.”

“That’s pretty uncommon, though. You weren’t worried it would tip people off? Did you know there’s an Instagram model called Brock O’Hurn?” she asked. Brock groaned.  

“Jack has made me aware,” he said. “I refuse to look at him.”

“He looks like Hot Surfer Jesus. Buzzfeed called him the World’s Sexiest Man With A Man Bun and he’s done the covers of romance novels. He’s like millennial Fabio,” Darcy said, sitting down. She spun in the rolling chair. “Yay! A full rotation. I love a good spinning chair,” she said.

“Uh-huh.” Brock tried to not grin or make jokes about things you could do with office furniture. “Here’s your phone, your calendar with our appointments, and a bunch of fake client files,” he said, gesturing to the file cabinet beside her.

“They’re fake?” Darcy said quizzically.

“Well, not fake. Empty. We’re a bit short on work,” he admitted. “It’s not exactly a bustling metropolis.” They were lucky to have a SHIELD stipend and cheap rent, Brock thought.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Darcy said sarcastically. Out the window, a squealing group of teens was dashing by in the rain. Their umbrellas had Edward Cullen’s face on one side. “I bet they make a mint on tourist umbrellas here,” she said. The rain had increased to a substantial downpour suddenly. You couldn’t see the other side of the street for the sheets of rain.

“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to driving in it. It might let up though,” he said.

“Where do I make the downstairs coffee?” Darcy asked. “This is coffee weather.”

“Back here,” he said, leading her past their desks into a tiny kitchenette in the back.

“You want some?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said.

“Where’s Jack?” Darcy asked, once the coffee was brewing and she’d retrieved two mugs.

“Out trying to get photos of some damn fool who told his wife he was going for a walk on the Bogachiel River Trail for exercise when he’s really up there in a tent with his lady friend,” Brock said. He chuckled. “Shitty day for it.”

“Whatever happened to sex in your car in a parking lot?” Darcy said aloud, following him back out to the main room. “I thought that was what tacky, sneaky cheaters did?”

“Not enough parking lots here, probably,” Brock said, sipping his coffee. The rain increased again, making a gurgling sound in the building’s gutters and against the window. “Poor Jack,” he said, “he’ll come back half-drowned and the pictures will be shit and the wife doesn’t want to believe us, anyway.”

“Isn’t it funny how that is?” Darcy said. “My friend’s mom refused to believe her husband was cheating, even when she found his car at another woman’s house. Her friend had to circle the block twice before she would even admit it might be his car.”

“Maybe it wasn’t his car,” Brock said.

“It was an orange Pontiac Vibe with personalized license plates for his favorite sports team,” Darcy said dryly.

“Maybe it was his car,” Brock said, opening his email. He wasn’t going to stare at Darcy. He was just going to drink his damn coffee. He wasn’t going to stare like a--

“You know, I wonder what it’s like to have sex in the rain? I never have. Hey, are you okay?” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” he said, coughing. “I’m fine. I just swallowed wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot Coffee, MS and Pie Town, NM do exist! http://mentalfloss.com/article/28474/10-town-names-will-make-you-hungry
> 
> So did Marilyn Monroe's vocal coach: https://www.nextavenue.org/how-marilyn-monroes-vocal-coach-taught-me-sing/


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stakeouts are boring and Wild, Wild Country is a very good documentary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

By eleven-thirty Jack still hadn’t returned. Darcy had done twenty spins in her chair, had four cups of coffee, and found the address a few stores in Port Angeles, plus the one for the nearest Target. It was in Silverdale. She was making a list of supplies, up to and including one of those refrigeration bags, so she could transport frozen pizza back to the hinterlands. She had a weird craving for boxed California Pizza Kitchen, now that it was totally out of reach.

“How far away is Silverdale?” she asked Brock.

“Two and a half hours,” he said.

“Ugh. Damn and blast,” Darcy said.

“What’d you want in Silverdale?” he asked.

“Target,” she said, sighing, “they have a Supercenter with a Starbucks.” She was really bummed it was so far away. She missed caramel macchiatos.

“We can go sometime,” he said. “We’ll plan it out, see if we can’t pick up a case in Silverdale to bill for some of the costs. You wanna leave a little early? The rain’s lightened up. My client just texted,” Brock said to her. “She got a tip that her husband is definitely meeting the other woman today.”

“Have you heard from Jack?” she asked.

“Nah, but he’s all right. He’s got Australian wilderness training, it’d take more than rain to put a dent in him,” Brock said. “Put your coffee in a to-go cup. I’m going to pull the truck around.”

“I don’t mind getting wet,” Darcy told him. He looked at her oddly, she thought.

 

The truck turned out to be an old silver Ford Bronco with burgundy trim. The inside was burgundy, too. It had bench seats. “Whoa, how old is this thing?” she asked, as they left Forks. “I didn’t think they still made bench seats?”

“It’s younger than you, sweetheart,” he said snarkily. “I added the bench seat, actually. Custom. My ex-wife liked them.”

“You have an ex-wife?” Darcy asked.

“I do,” he said. “Or did. She’s somewhere in Europe, last I heard. Loves the Greek islands.”

“Did you have to live apart when the whole DC thing happened?” Darcy said sadly. “Like Jack and Roger are doing now?”

“Uh, no,” he said. There was a flash of a grin and he shook his head. “Our relationship was nothing like Roger and Jack’s. She was an undercover SHIELD agent, too. When DC happened, I went into hiding and then started helping Phil out some and eventually got relocated here when things got too risky. She didn’t want to stay with SHIELD. She wanted to...go in a different direction with her life.”

“I’m sorry,” Darcy said, realizing he was saying his wife had left him when SHIELD fell.

“Don’t be,” he said. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed her new lifestyle.”

“Her lifestyle?” Darcy said.

“I might have been able to tolerate the veganism, but I would have made a terrible criminal,” he said, chuckling.

“Your ex-wife is a criminal?” Darcy said, shocked.

“I think the correct term is grifter. She’s not actually all that dangerous and she was never Hydra,” he said. “She just has a more flexible definition of morality than most people. To hear her tell it, what she does isn’t a crime, because all the people she takes from are corrupt rich people. She thinks she’s like Robin Hood. I blame her parents.”

“Why?” Darcy said, intrigued.

“They were hippies. Always looking for enlightenment in all the wrong places, you’d say.” He chuckled. “You ever see that documentary on Netflix about the bizarre Indian guru in Oregon? Osho?” he asked.

“ _Wild, Wild Country?”_ Darcy asked. “Isn’t that the one where someone was accused of poisoning a salad bar to take over the town council or something?” He nodded. It was a really good documentary, Darcy remembered. The maybe-cult had basically taken over this tiny town and caused a panic. There was all this drama and high-ranking members were maybe implicated in embezzlement and trying to kill each other because they were jealous over the guru.

“That’s the one,” he said. “She was born in that compound. Her parents were just regular members, though, nobody high up. Young and mostly broke. When that fell apart, her parents moved around the west coast, living in different communes and groups. She never went to a normal school or anything.”

“Holy shit. That sounds really sad, but also fascinating,” Darcy said. “I’m sort of obsessed with documentaries like that. I bet she has really interesting stories.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Very. That whole experience made her a fantastic agent--she’s good with people, completely comfortable with new things, challenges, she just adapts--but she’s got a different mindset from the average person. Her internal logic is just...unexplainable.”

“You still like your ex-wife, don’t you?” Darcy said. There was something strangely fond in his tone.

“Uhh, yeah,” he said, furrowing his brow. “I’m not in love with Gillian, but I’m not mad at her, either. Jack thinks I’m too sympathetic to her, actually, that I ought to be more angry. But she can’t change who she is. It’s her, uh, nature and everything.”

“Huh,” Darcy said, thinking about it. “You were married to a female Loki.” He laughed.

“Jesus,” he said. “I’ve never thought about it like that, but yeah. Female Loki.” He lapsed into silence and Darcy decided not to poke at him. Exes were a sensitive subject. And he was being weirdly nice, taking her with him on this trip, so she could get stuff for her apartment. She watched the trees outside Forks slide by, blurred by droplets of rain. Everything was green and green and green.

 

Somewhere on the trip to Port Angeles, a tired Darcy fell asleep, lulled into relaxation by the rhythmic sound of the windshield wipers, the comfort of the bench seat, and the quiet chatter of the Northwest Public Radio station. When she woke up, there was something firm and warm against her cheek. “Mmmfph,” Darcy said, wiping a little drool off her mouth. She realized she was resting on Brock Rumlow’s shoulder. His arm was tucked behind her. She must’ve moved over in her sleep. She was a sleep wiggler normally.

“We’re almost here,” he said. “We’ll stop for coffee and then stakeout the motel.” They were stopped at an intersection in an actual city.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” she said. “I think I drooled on your shirt.”

“Not a problem,” he said, chuckling, as the light turned green. “Your snoring on the other hand…”

“Shut up,” Darcy said. She shook her head, trying to wake up.

“It was really more of a light wheeze,” he said. “You sound like a French bulldog I knew once.” He pulled into a parking space in front of a donut shop. “Make sure you pee, Frenchie,” he said, sliding his arm out from behind her back. “We might be sitting for awhile. Then we’ll get you your stuff.”

 

Staking out a motel for a cheating hubby was really boring. “Thank God for donuts,” Darcy said an hour after they arrived. Nothing was happening. “I didn’t know I loved maple bacon. Are you sure you don’t want one? It’s delicious,” she told him. She waved the donut under his nose. “Woo-hoo. Maple bacon,” she said.

“Cut it out, I’m working here,” he said. “I can practically feel my arteries hardening just sitting next to that box.”

“Stop lying, you know that you want that custard-filled one with the coconut,” she said. “C’mon. Say it with me, Brock: Custard-filled, coconut rolled donut,” she said, “toasted coconut with powdered sugar. Can’t you just imagine how good it is? The crunchiness of the coconut melting into sweet, sweet sugar and the custard. Everyone likes custard. Mmmm, custard.”

He groaned. “Stop purring donut words at me,” he said. “I can’t handle it.”

“Healthy weirdo,” Darcy told him. “Your loss. I’m calling Jane.” She pulled out her tablet. It had a Stark data plan with high-level encryption.

“Now?” he said, sounding oddly disappointed.

“Yup,” Darcy said. “Jane!” Jane’s face had popped up on the screen.

“Darce, whatcha doing?” Jane asked.

“I’m on my first PI stakeout. Look, this is Brock. Say hi to Jane,” she told him.

“Hello, Jane,” Brock said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi!” Jane said, waving.

“He refuses to eat a donut,” Darcy said. “He’s one of those fitness killjoys,” she told Jane.

“I see,” Jane said.

“What’s that mean?” Brock said.

“Impressive bicep definition that shows up on camera, probably,” Darcy said. He was holding the camera over the steering wheel in a way that showed off his arm muscles, she thought. She poked at his arm with her powdered sugar covered finger. “All muscly,” she said.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re all sticky.”

“Oh em gee,” Darcy said. “Are you blushing?”

“Jane, she fell asleep on me and snored,” he said.

“Do I really sound like a French bulldog?” Darcy asked curiously.

“Oh my God, she does! It’s like a baby wheeze,” Jane said. “She always falls asleep on trains, too. Did she drool?”

“Yeah,” he said.

 

Cheating husband finally showed up when Darcy and Jane had disconnected. Hubby was sucking on some woman’s face and Brock got plenty of photos. The whirring of his camera was a blessed sound to Darcy. “Why are you smiling?” Brock said.

“Because that means we can leave. I have to pee,” she told him. “Like, really, really pee.”

“I told you to pace yourself with the coffee,” Brock said. He took her back to the donut shop, she peed, washed her hands, and told the owner that the maple bacon donuts had changed her life.

 

***

“You got another box?” Brock said, when he saw her come out of the shop. He was going to fall apart if she started trying to feed him donuts or touching him again. He’d been afraid it was obvious how turned on he was when she was talking about custard. Jesus. He needed a cold shower and a run.

“These are for Jack,” she said. “Now, let’s hit up a store. I need blankets and snacks to live.”

“We’ll have to go to a dreaded big box store,” he said. He was used to people objecting to commercialism, so her response surprised him.

“Yay!” she said. “I love any place where I can get twinkle lights, cake mix, and deodorant under one roof, now that I’ve lived in the wilds.”

“You’ve been in Forks less than 24 hours,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“And before that, I was in Norway, and before that, isolated New Mexico,” she told him. “I have spent many moons in the hinterlands, my child,” she said, patting his knee. He swallowed.

“I’ll drop you off up front,” he said, turning into the shopping center. “It’s started to rain again.”

“Aw, thanks,” she said. “You’re being so nice.” Nice? She thought he was being nice. There was no more sexless and depressing euphemism for a man to hear. He waited as she bounced cheerfully into the store and swore under his breath. As he parked the Bronco, he remembered that she’d at least said he had nice muscles.

 

He watched her load up a shopping cart with apartment supplies, new bedding, shampoo, snacks, several varieties of children’s cereal--Fruit Loops, Capt n’ Crunch, and Cocoa Puffs--and wine. “Are you getting Fruit Loops and pinot grigio?” he asked quizzically.

“Of course,” she said, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “Do they sell decorative lights here?”

“Probably,” he said. He scanned the signs. “Aisle 18.”

On aisle 18, she picked up a string of lights in the shape of butterflies. “How cute are these?” she asked.

“Very cute. Would you like to get dinner here?” he asked. Couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Yeah,” she said. “Wait, can we go to the cheesy Twilight restaurant, if it still exists? It’s Italian. You like Italian, right? And I can order in my Bela Lugosi voice.”

“Bela Lugosi?” he asked.

“Ravioli of the night, what beautiful fillings they make,” Darcy said. “I never drink...water?” He laughed.

“Sounds good,” he said.

 

On the way out, he noticed when she spotted a rack of delicate necklaces. “Oh em gee,” she said. “Jane would love this one.” It was a little shooting star. “I wish I could send her one,” Darcy said. “We wear matching stuff sometimes.”

“So get it,” he said to her. “Get two.”

“But I can’t send it to her,” she said.

“We keep a PO Box in Port Angeles for mailing things,” he said. “It’s not tied to the office or Forks. Different names. You can send her that.”

“Yay!” She did a little hop. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“She can send you things, too,” he said neutrally. “If you’ve left anything behind that you miss.”

“I don’t think the post office is equipped to handle an oversized magical goldfish from Asgard,” she said, frowning.

“A what now?” Brock asked her.

“My pet fish. He was a gift from Loki,” she said.

“You get gifts from the Asgardian who dropped aliens on us twice?” Brock said in a low voice. “How does that work?”

“Um, I met him on a trip up there and became his prison pen pal? Thor thought it might help him develop some more positive feelings about us and prevent him from trying to, like, take over again?” she said.

Brock stared at her. “And you said yes to this?” he asked, befuddled.

“Thor’s my bro,” she said, shrugging and plucking two necklaces off the rack. “He loves his brother. Like, really, really loves him. I did it to help him at first. Loki is tricky, but he has some good points. We’re supposed to get cheese fries when I get back.”

“Cheese fries?” he said.

“He’s never had them. Can you imagine?” Darcy said. “Isn’t that sad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the little shooting star necklace. How cute is that?  
> https://www.dogeared.com/shooting-star-necklace%2C-sterling-silver/842712105822.html


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sound of rain makes Darcy sleepy....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all the comments and kudos.

It was difficult for him not stare at her like an idiot, Brock thought, once they’d been seated at the restaurant. Even in that ridiculous striped toboggan hat, she was wildly attractive. Worse still, she was one of those women who bit her bottom lip when she was thinking. She was doing it while she looked down at the menu on the table and it made him have ideas about her mouth. Lots of ideas. He looked away, just to calm the hell down. In Hydra, he’d always used a count when he was stressed. Start at a hundred, count backwards. He was at 86 when she spoke.

“Oh, dammit,” she muttered.

“You need help with that?” he asked, when he realized she had her arm stuck in her jacket sleeve. She was trying to wriggle out of it.

“Are you making fun of me?” she asked. He stood up and came around to help.

“No,” he said, grinning. “I think you genuinely need assistance, sweetheart.” Her new necklace fell out of the jacket pocket. He picked it up. “You want me to put this on?” he asked, detaching it from the cardboard backing card with a paragraph about being a “tiny little wonder.” Clever marketing, he thought.

“Um, sure, yeah,” she said. She pulled her plum-colored hair aside, so he could fasten the clasp.

“There, you’re good,” he said, running his finger along the line of her neck. She had a delicate, almost heart-shaped mole just below the edge of her hairline. How many of her boyfriends had fixated on that mole, he wondered? It was the perfect spot to begin, whether you wanted to trail kisses down her spine or work around her neck and down her chest. He was imagining pulling her t-shirt over her head and running his tongue down her back, when she peered over her shoulder at him.

“Thanks,” she said. “That was really, um, nice of you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, sitting back down. He looked at her. She was watching him with what he thought was a perplexed expression.

“So, folks,” the waiter said, appearing suddenly. “What can I get for you?” Thank God, Brock thought.

“I vant zee Diet Coke and zee mushroom ravioli, ravioli of the night,” Darcy said. “What beautiful mushrooms you make.” Brock couldn’t believe she was actually ordering in that voice.

“That’s a very good Bela Lugosi,” the waiter--Mike--said, chuckling.

“Does that just like, drive you crazy?” Darcy asked him. “The whole vampire thing?”

“Nah,” Mike said. “Most people don’t do old school Dracula.”

“Is your name really Mike or does everyone who waits tables here have to have the name of a _Twilight_ character?” Darcy asked.

“There’s a Mike in _Twilight?”_ Brock asked. “A vampire named Mike?” God, those damn books were weird as hell. Who named a vampire Mike? Weren’t they all supposed to called like Lucien or Antonius or something? He realized Darcy was grinning at him.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend,” Darcy said. “He is unschooled in the world of sparkly vampires.”

“Lucky guy,” Mike said laughing. “So, the Bella mushroom ravioli and for you, sir?”

“If you order a salad, I’ll weep,” Darcy told him. “Real tears.” She made a sad face at him.

“Fine,” Brock said, giving in. “The sausage pizza.”

“I am so proud of you, babe! Mike, clap for him. He turned down a donut from I Donut Care today,” Darcy said. “The health nut is having a pizza!”

“You turned down a Donut Care donut?” Mike said. “Those are great. What you’d get?”

“The maple bacon, boston cream, and the Reese’s Cup ones. He turned down the toasted coconut custard,” Darcy said. “It’s sitting in the car, feeling so rejected right now.”

“That--man, that’s a mistake,” Mike said. Brock looked at Mike, then at Darcy. Mike paled a little--Brock had an intimidating, hard-to-read resting face and Mike had just noticed that he was really fit for an older guy--but Darcy merely grinned.

“Are we done making fun of me yet?” Brock asked. When she beamed at him, his heart rate increased. Her calling him babe hadn’t helped, either. He could stand to hear a lot of words out of that mouth. That mouth saying _baby_ while his head was between her thighs---no, he thought, trying to shut it down.

“I’ll get your drinks,” Mike said.

“Thank you,” Brock said.

“And bread!” Darcy called after him. Mike returned quickly, deposited two full glasses and a bread basket, and asked if they needed anything else.

“Napkins, I think,” Brock said, grinning, as Darcy tore into a hunk of garlic bread with her teeth.

“What? Bread is delicious,” Darcy said. “I love bread!”

“You love bread, huh?” he said. She had a tiny bit of seasoning on her bottom lip.

“I’m like Oprah that way,” she said. When she leaned forward, the collar of her t-shirt dipped to reveal the lacy edge of her bra. Teal blue. Just below that little shooting star.

 

“Can I take a picture of you with the pizza for proof?” Darcy asked suddenly.

“No Facebook,” he said, pointing at her sternly. He glanced around. “We’re dead, remember?” She laughed. It was a great laugh, he thought. He could listen to her laugh all day.

“I am zee undead,” Darcy told him. “I want zee picture of you eating zee delicious pizzas.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him and tapped his ankle with her foot under the table.

“Cut it out, Bride of Dracula,” he grumbled. Even that felt good.

“You know you find zee delicious pizzas very seductiiiiive,” she teased.

“Uh-huh,” he said, making eye contact with her. They both stared at each other for a second.

 

***

 

At the restaurant, Brock was still looking at her funny, Darcy thought. He was really nice, helping her with her coat and her necklace, but she’d noticed that he sometimes shifted to an oddly blank face when he wasn’t talking. It looked very SHIELD agent, actually. He got that strange, no-expression face putting her necklace on. Did she have weird Manic Panic stains on her neck or was it something else? She didn’t have a mirror at home to see the back of her neck, so she’d been fretting about neck stainage. They were having some sort of weird eye contact moment when she finally broke. Darcy hated uncomfortable silences. “What? Is something wrong with your water?” she asked. “You sure you don’t want water with bubbles?” she asked. “Pellegrino? LaCroix? Something they don’t have in the gas station cafe in Forks?” Brock was drinking plain ol’ water, which Darcy thought was sad; she appreciated sobriety when driving 100%, but Perrier was so much better than tap. She sloshed her Diet Coke happily and pretended to flick some at him.

 

“No, this is fine. I’m still figuring out you being Loki’s prison pen pal,” he said, grinning and seeming to shake himself awake. She noticed he’d exhaled, too. “What did you talk about?” he asked her.  Darcy leaned forward to speak to him in a whisper, looking around cautiously first.

“All kinds of things, really. Magic. The light in the desert. I sent him photos by a doohickey Jane invented, sort of like the magical mailbox in _The Lake House_ . You know, that Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock movie? My letters just went _whoosh_ , up to Asgard. It can only move low-density things, though, so no people. Heimdall’s a super-duper mailman, as it turns out,” she said. She waved her hand airily.

“Who is Heimdall?” Brock asked.

“The all-seeing super hottie who guards the gates of Asgard. I really think he’s in love with Loki and Thor’s mama. She’s very glam, stunningly regal, and a true sweetheart. That’s where Loki gets his good qualities, all from her nurturing. Whoops,” Darcy said, clapping her hand over her mouth.

“What?” Brock asked.

“Heimdall probably just heard that. He hears _everythang._ Anyhow, about Loki. He used to ask a lot about Earth. Politics. History. He loves politics and I was a political science major, so, lots of that. He’s very into the color green, too? He’d love this part of the country, just for all the green,” Darcy explained. At Brock’s skeptical expression, she continued. “He tries, really, but it’s like he has no scale for normal behavior. Almost like a kid? So, he overdoes things. Like emeralds. I left behind most of mine in Tony’s vault. I didn’t think I’d need them in Forks,” she said, laughing. They paused when the waiter brought the food. “Hey, Mike, that looks delish,” she said. “Your pizza looks good, too.” Darcy loved pizza. She wondered if she’d regret getting the Bella raviolis. She probably should have gotten pizza.

“Thanks, Mike,” Brock said. “Did you wanna take that photo now?” he said. He made a stern face while she took his photo.

“Jack’s gonna love it,” Darcy said aloud. “You look so mean! It’s great.” She dug a fork into her ravioli. “Oh em gee, these are good. How’s your pizza?”

“It’s pizza,” he said. “No such thing as bad pizza. Emeralds?” he said to her, cutting a bit of his pizza with a fork.

“You’re using a fork?” she said, stunned.

“I’m not a savage,” he said.

“Oh for God’s sake use your hands, I don’t care if you’re a savage,” she told him. He chuckled.

“Ok,” he said, picking up the slice, “tell me about the emeralds?”

“He magics them up for me whenever he’s bored. They’re not _real_ real emeralds, but they look and feel real. He says they will for as long as he stays alive. Here,” she whispered, “this is one. Asgard magic.” She removed a bangle bracelet from her wrist and slid it across the table. It looked like any bangle with raw, unfaceted green stones embedded in the center.

“It’s warm to the touch,” Brock said, raising an eyebrow, after he’d held it up.

“Magic,” she said, grinning. “Those are moonstones”--she pointed to the raw, glowy stones between the raw emeralds--”they’re my birthstone. I think the spells on this are protective in nature. There are tiny, unreadable inscriptions on the inside.” She flipped it over to show him. “He told me to always wear it. Jane has one, too. With her birthstone. There was this one time I was leaving somewhere in New York and a truck jumped a curb. The driver was ill. Only he didn’t hit me. At the last second, the truck just...stopped.”

“You think a bracelet did that?” Brock asked her. He looked incredulous.

“I don’t know, honestly,” Darcy said, shrugging. “Maybe? Weirder things have happened. The bracelet got warm on my arm. I felt it.” She ate a ravioli. It was amazingly good.

“Why doesn’t he do tons of these?” Brock asked.

“What, like, for SHIELD tech?” Darcy said teasingly. “Did you want one?”

“Might be useful,” he said. “I’d like to be prepared for all eventualities. Phil might not feel comfortable wearing one, though, considering their history. Does it work like the hammer?”

“No, that’s why there aren’t that many,” Darcy said, putting it back on. “Mew--Mew’s special--”

“Mew-Mew?” Brock said.

“My hammer friend,” she said. “Mew-Mew is the coolest, but she was forged eons ago in a star. She has sentience and whatnot? You can talk to her, you can’t talk to the bracelet.”

“You’ve talked to the hammer?” Brock said, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell,” Darcy said, “but one time Thor accidentally left her on one of my shopping bags and I asked her to move nicely as a joke and she rolled right off. That’s not supposed to happen, but it did. Ever since, I make sure to be extra nice to her.”

“How do you do that?” he asked.

“Um, well, she likes to be dusted by those lavender-scented Swiffer cloths and sometimes I put a little peppermint essential oil on her when Thor’s not looking?” Darcy said. “So, she smells nice and feels clean? I’m not sure Thor understands how nice that is, since he can be a bit messy.” She gestured towards the bracelet. “This is Loki’s magic, so it operates on Loki’s energy. It’s not independent of him. He’s constantly powering it, even from other Realms. If he made too many, he wouldn’t be able to do his protective magic or hide his parentage. He can only do so many things at once.” She sighed. Thinking about Loki’s family situation made her sad. Sadder than him not getting cheese fries. “SHIELD knows about that, right?” Darcy asked. “His parentage?”

“Yeah, he’s not Odin’s. Adopted?” Brock said. “Somebody else’s kid.” He shrugged and Darcy realized he didn’t know everything. She put down her fork and looked at him seriously.

“His biological father is Laufey, king of the Frost Giants. Odin found him as a baby during a war between Asgard and Jotunheim and took him away. He’s really sensitive about it,” Darcy told Brock. “They didn’t tell him anything. He found out when a Frost Giant touched him as an adult and it didn’t hurt. Frigga and Odin magicked a disguise on him back then, so his face--the one we’ve seen--is _the one they chose for him_. He didn’t know his own face or his own identity until he was an adult and he just found out one day while they were fighting Frost Giants. In the middle of a freaking battle. Well, he was an Asgardian adult. That’s probably centuries, our time, which is worse. Thor says he won’t let anybody see his Frost Giant face ever. Thor hasn’t even seen it. It’s a total head trip.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. Why do all that?” Brock asked.

“That’s the worst part. Because Odin had this dumbass plan to install Loki as king of Jotunheim later,” Darcy said bitterly. “He tries to say it was about peace, but he didn’t prepare Loki at all. Loki had zero connection to Frost Giant culture. None! He was raised totally as an Asgardian, in that culture. The Asgardians think Frost Giants are monstrous. Loki grew up thinking his own bio-relatives were the the monsters under the bed, basically. Had Odin even tried his gambit, the Frost Giants would have probably murdered Loki the minute he was left behind in Jotunheim. It makes me so upset to think about how Odin thought he could just drop Loki into this foreign realm, like, voila, son, here’s your own realm for you to rule over, full of hostiles. Say goodbye to everything you know. Also, all our people think you’re basically gross and terrifying now that they know who--wait, _what_ \--you are, since we don’t regard your race as full-fledged persons, just frosted savages. Buh-bye!” Darcy shook her head angrily.

“Odin thought he’d have a puppet king in Jotunheim,” Brock said in a quiet voice. “They probably would have killed Loki, you’re right.”

“Yeah, he’s like the Marie Antoinette of Asgard. You know how the French hated her because she was an Austrian, but she couldn’t go back to Austria, either?” Darcy said. “He’s sort of a guy without a place. I try to remember that when he gets into trouble.”

“Sympathetic, huh?” Brock said to her in a quiet voice. “These romantic emeralds that he gives you?” he asked.

“No, no, no,” Darcy said, doing jazz hands over her raviolis. “Don’t get me wrong, I like him, but he can magic himself into another place and a whole new identity with a snap of his fingers. He’s a total raisin cookie.”

“A raisin cookie?” Brock said.

“Totally gives me trust issues, Commander,” she said. “You think you’re getting the chocolate chip and, blam, gross raisins. Nope, not for me.”

“Uh-huh. How’d you know my old rank at SHIELD?” Brock asked.

“Phil might have mentioned it. Sounds very impressive, by the way. Reminds me of that book series, _Master & Commander, _” she said.

“Book series?” he said, seeming to choke slightly on his water. “What kind of book series?” he asked.

“It’s some sort of British naval series, very beloved. Russell Crowe was in the movie? Guys in fancy coats trapped on a boat out in the big blue ocean?” she said.

“Oh,” he said.

“Did you want to command the waiter to bring us more to drink, Commander?” she asked.

“That’s about all it’s worth these days,” he said, gesturing to the waiter. “You want dessert, sweetheart?”

“Oh, no, I’m so full,” she said. “I could have coffee, though.”

 

It was pouring rain when they left the restaurant and dashed to the truck. “I could have brought the truck around,” he said as she slammed her door.

“What, like I’m the queen?” Darcy said. “C’mon, dude.” She flicked her hair.

“Hey,” he said. “Quit shaking off on me, Frenchie,” he said. He reached into the backseat and tossed her a beach towel.

“You carry this around?” she asked, buckling her seatbelt. Then she dried her damp hair a little and wiped down the arms of her jacket. She was cold in this climate. He seemed fully adapted. Or he ran warmer than she did; she’d only seen him in light raincoats and he’d ditched his as soon as he got in the truck. She was treated to a view of his arm muscles again. Those were nice. She could admit that to herself.

“You say that like it doesn’t make sense,” he said dryly. ”Here,” he said, “cup holder.” He popped down something in the dash in front of her.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. He had weird aftermarket cup holders. She had a to-go coffee balanced between her knees in a restaurant-branded travel mug. Apparently, they didn’t do styrofoam in this county, so she’d had to actually buy one. “I need to start carrying one of these travel mugs around,” she said.

“You planning on going places alone?” he asked, cranking the car.

“Shut up, I need caffeine wherever I may be,” she said. She wondered if she could have Jane send her old Puente Antiguo messenger bag. It had a hook she’d sewed on just to carry travel mugs when they were empty. Jane had joked that Darcy packed for coffee like a sherpa on Everest carried oxygen.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Darcy asked him.

“I’ll be fine,” he said wryly.

“Really?” she asked.

“I’m not being shot at, the roads are actually paved, and I know where I’m going,” he said, pulling out of the parking space. “That’s an improvement on fully 75% of my SHIELD missions.”

“What about the other 25%?” she asked.

“Sometimes, just sometimes, the terrorists decided to go somewhere nice on vacation,” he said. “Vienna, Berlin, Paris. You should ask Jack about losing a shitload of money in a casino in Monaco once.”

“Jack likes to gamble?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, he’s not allowed to gamble anymore, sweetheart,” Brock told her. “It's lucky the Quileute aren't into Indian casinos.”

“What was your favorite nice place you ever went on a SHIELD mission?” she asked him.

“Mykonos,” he said. “It’s a Greek island. Technically, Jack dragged me and Gillian there after a mission. He wanted to check it out; it’s one of the Greek islands that’s gay-friendly, so he thought he’d bring Roger back. There’s a place called Little Venice on the island there that’s really nice. Buildings practically over the water. Naxos is nice, too. That’s where we were on the mission. Someone was trying to sell smuggled Hellenic artifacts in exchange for Chitauri weaponry.”

“That does sound cooler than Forks,” Darcy said.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “The ocean’s practically turquoise, the whole village is white, it’s amazing.”

“Hey, I know the name Mykonos,” Darcy said. “There’s a song named after it by the Fleet Foxes. Here,” she said, sticking the earbud in his ear, “listen.”

“You do know it’s weird to stick your earbud in someone’s ear, right?” he asked her.

“Pffht,” she said. “Listen to the good song.” He rolled his eyes. “Did Roger and Jack ever get to go?” she asked him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Roger bought a place there. They rent it during the tourist season. Jack’ll probably meet him there in a few months, stay for awhile, depending on how quiet it is with the Hydra situation.”

“How do they do that? Keep their relationship a secret while they own rental property?” she asked. She thought it was a logical question. He waved his hand at her dismissively.

“I can’t hear the music,” he said. “Shhh.”

“Fine,” she said. She crossed her arms and leaned against the cold window. She tried to use the beach towel as a pillow, but she couldn’t get comfortable.

“Get over here,” he said to her, patting the side of the bench close to him. “Switch seatbelts, too, it’ll be more comfortable,” he said. She scooted over and put the middle belt on. He was still listening to her iPod when she fell asleep on his shoulder again, lulled by the sounds of the rain in the dark.

***

 

When they got back to Forks, Jack was waiting. Darcy plopped his food down on his desk in the office. “Jack, I’ve got you the world’s best maple bacon donuts and an enormous amount of lasagna, since you got stuck out in the rain today.I didn’t know if you ate in Thor and Steve-sized portions or nah, so I got two,” she said. Brock was bringing in her bags. Jack grinned at her, looking positively delighted.

“Bless you, love,” Jack said. He gave Brock a wry look. “Your assistant looks very dedicated.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll keep him around,” Darcy said.

“She just needs a ride to Target,” Brock said wryly. “No, no, I’ll take them upstairs, I’ve got it,” he said when Darcy tried to take the bags from him.

“He’s, like, weirdly stubborn,” Darcy said, once he’d gone. “Do you have an animal for that in Australia? In the south, they say ‘hard-headed as a mule.’ What’s up with him and donuts?”

“Health conscious,” Jack said.

“Boo-ring. By the by, are you okay? I was kind of worried about you, but Brock said you’d be all right in all that mess up in the woods?”

“Right as rain,” Jack said, grinning.  “I think we say ‘stubborn as a mule,’ too, love.”

“Jack! A rain pun. I love puns,” Darcy said.

“I had a feeling,” Jack said. “I got the client photos. It was a long trek, but I don’t mind. Fitness tracker says I got in ten miles today.”

“You don’t mind, really?” Darcy said. Ten miles in the pouring rain sounded awful to her.

“Nah,” he said. “It’s good for the mind, being outside. Settles your thinking, keeps you calm. Up there, it’s like paradise, when it clears up a little. Even when you’ve got a light rain, it feels peaceful.”

“If you say so,” Darcy said.

“I’ll take you up on one of the beginner trails, if you like?” Jack offered.

“If he does that, remember to take your bracelet, so you don’t fall off something,” Brock said, appearing in the doorway. Darcy jumped and shrieked a little. “What?” Brock said.

“Dude! You scared me,” Darcy said. “How does he come down stairs so quietly?” she asked Jack.

“He’s part cat,” Jack said. “I’m getting a fork. This lasagna looks delicious, Darcy.”

 

“My dudes, I’m going to crash, I am sooooo tired,” Darcy announced, after they’d been home awhile and she’d unpacked a little, asked Jack a million questions about his day, the trail, and how he kept his boots from getting all waterlogged (he had a rack for the dryer to help dry them on air dry, it turned out). “I thank you for your patience,” she told the tall man.

“Goodnight, Darcy,” Jack said, smiling at her.

“I’m sorry you almost-drowned today, Jack,” Darcy told him. “Next time, make Brock trek out into the woods after the cheaters,” she said. “Goodnight, Commander!” she called.

“What, I don’t get a thank you for my patience?” Brock said, sticking his head out of the downstairs kitchenette. He was drinking a bottled water.

“Nope!” Darcy said. “You didn’t walk ten miles in the rain and you snubbed my donuts,” she said. He sighed.

“I didn’t--” Brock began.

“He sighs like an old chook, doesn’t he?” Jack said wryly.

“Chook?” Darcy said.

“Old woman,” Jack said. “Means chicken. Like old bird.”

“That’s delightful,” Darcy said. “Like old biddie?” Jack nodded.

“Uh-huh. The very same sort,” Jack said.

“Goodnight, Commander Old Biddie!” Darcy said cheerfully at Brock.

“Dammit, Jack,” Brock muttered.

 

“Commander?” Jack said, once Darcy had left the room. He was reading at his desk.

“I didn’t tell her to call me that, Phil just mentioned my old rank,” Brock said.

“Uh-huh,” Jack said.

“Did you know that she was Loki’s prison pen pal?” Brock said to Jack, as he listened to the sound of Darcy’s footsteps upstairs. “His actual pen pal. He’s given her protective jewelry and some damn magical fish?” Brock said. He shook his head.

“Do you think they find you or do you find them?” Jack asked.

“Say what now?” Brock said.

“Women like that,” Jack said wryly. “I’ve been wondering if it’s something about you. They’re like magnets and you’re like the metal. Ferromagnetic, that’s the word. You’ll be writing her love letters on Asgard soon enough.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Brock said stiffly.

“Sure, mate.”

“I’m going to bed,” he said to Jack.

“Saying goodnight to her again, huh?” the Australian said.

“No,” Brock said.

 

But when he got upstairs, Darcy’s door was open. He sighed and walked over. She had her back to him and was standing on her mattress. It looked like she was hanging her twinkle lights as a makeshift headboard. Also, she’d changed into yoga pants that made her ass look great. “Did you need some help with that?” he asked.

“Ahhh!” she shrieked and staggered backwards on the mattress. She sat down with a plop. “You did it again,” Darcy said.

“I’m sorry,” he said, coming over to help her. “Let me get that for you, okay?” he said. “Do you need nails for this?”

“I got those little stick-on hooks that don’t damage the wall,” she told him. “I hung those first, an hour ago.”

“Huh,” he said, “that’s smart.” She sat on the mattress and he was acutely conscious of her watching him as he removed his shoes and stepped up on her bed to attach the lights. He looked over his shoulder at her. “This good?” he asked.

“Yeah, perfect, thanks, Brock,” she said.

“Perfect, huh?” he said.

“Yes, I love it when handsome ex-SHIELD agents hang my twinkle lights for free. It’s almost as good for my ego as the time Captain America took me to the pictures,” she said.

“You dated Cap?” he asked. _Great_ , he thought sarcastically.

“Nah,” she said. “Thor tried to set us up, but I’d probably be happier married to Tony, to be honest. Steve’s a sweetie, but there’s just something...missing.”

“A discernible personality?” Brock muttered under his breath. He was still holding a grudge from the time Steve had tossed him into an elevator ceiling after he’d tried to hint that-- _yo, kid, this isn’t personal_ \--there was more going on than Steve knew. But of course, America’s Oldest Boy Scout wasn’t good at subtle social cues and had plowed ahead anyway. Typical. He stepped off Darcy’s bed and put his shoes on, then washed his hands at her sink. “Maybe you just don’t belong in a living Norman Rockwell painting?” he said to her.

“True,” she said. “I always liked those Edward Hooper knockoffs with Elvis and Marilyn better.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I could see that.” He looked at her. “I guess you’re tired, huh?” It was after midnight.

“Actually, I slept so much in the truck today that I can’t sleep now,” she said. “I was going to watch a movie. You can watch it with me, if you want?”

“Sure,” he said. He knew it was a bad idea, a terrible idea, probably, but he wanted to anyway. That was what she did to him, turned his brain into a loop of _I want I want I want I want I want._

 

***

Jack finished a long phone call with Roger downstairs and smiled to himself. It was good to hear Roger’s voice, no matter how often they were apart since DC. Jack liked reading in the office downstairs because he missed Roger more surrounded by the artwork and the furniture in the apartment. It was better to feel like you were working. He knew Roger felt the same.

Roger was actually on a work trip scouting a new artists he wanted to represent in Singapore and Cambodia and had just gotten into his hotel. He was excited about a Cambodian kid he’d discovered who did small, delicate watercolors. They sounded lovely. Roger was always scolding Jack for not cultivating his own sketching talents more. Jack thought he was second-rate, but he had been quietly sketching the woods around Forks, just to surprise Roger with a gift soon. He was looking forward to their next trip to Mykonos or wherever else they could determine was safest. Jack would feel less guilty about leaving Brock behind in Forks if Darcy was here.

She’d really gotten his attention, Jack thought, as he moved quietly upstairs. He could hear a television going. Darcy’s apartment door was open. Jack looked in. Darcy and Brock were curled up her couch, both asleep. Jack suppressed a laugh. He’s a goner, Jack thought, pulling the door shut.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm imagining that Darcy's protective bracelet looks like something from The House of Minerals: https://www.etsy.com/listing/523877155/emerald-birthstone-gift-emerald-bracelet?ref=shop_home_active_1


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter = just Frank Grillo doing that slow blink he does in a bunch of gifs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your kudos and comments.

Darcy woke up feeling ridiculously cozy and warm for some reason. She was still on the couch, sort of half on her belly and half on her side. There was a weird buzzing sound. Darcy opened her eyes blearily. She’d fallen asleep with her contacts in and now her eyes were all sleepy at the corners and her lenses felt dry. It was her Stark tablet on the coffee table. She reached over and poked at it, half-awake. A second later, Jane’s face filled the screen. “Hey, Janey,” Darcy said, closing her eyes again. “How’re you?” she mumbled.

“Um, Darce?” Jane said. “What’s going on?”

“What?” Darcy murmured. Her eyes were so heavy, Too heavy to hold open. She wiggled back into the cushions on the back of the couch. So warm, her brain supplied. Firm, but really warm.

“Why are you spooning with Brock?” Jane said.

“Huh?” Darcy said, opening her eyes again. A blurry Jane was frowning. Darcy rolled her eyes down and then realized exactly how she was so warm and firmly secured to the couch. That lump under the afghan that snaked around Darcy’s torso and was keeping her from falling off the edge of the couch? STRIKE Team Commander Brock Rumlow’s arm. There was also the matter of his hand, which was gently cupping a fistful of underboob over her t-shirt. Left boob, she realized. He had very long arms for a guy of average height. “Oh,” she said out loud, craning her head around to look at him. He was fast asleep, wedged between her and the back of the couch. “Mmmpf,” Darcy said to Jane. “We must’ve fallen asleep. Watched a movie.”

“Uh-huh,” Jane said. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Was his hand there during the movie, Darce?” she asked. Blinking, Darcy saw that her grin had bloomed into a real smirk now.

Darcy attempted to wiggle free without falling off the couch, but merely succeeded into rolling onto her belly. Like they were stuck together, Rumlow moved with her. She found herself on her stomach with a hundred and eighty pounds of muscular SHIELD agent on top of her. Surprisingly, it felt great. Darcy loved sleeping on her stomach and had always wanted Ian to cuddle to her like this; he’d complained that it made him uncomfortable. But Brock’s warm bodyweight was doing amazing things for her chronically tight lower back. This was why people paid for that deep tissue massage where people put hot rocks on your back, Darcy realized distantly. She’d always thought it was more of a kink thing. She needed to find a spa to do that to her all the time. She might never leave. She closed her eyes again.

“Are you going to wake him up?” Jane asked. “Darcy!”

“Huh?” Darcy said groggily. It would be so nice just to go back to sleep. Sleep was calling...

“Are you going to wake him up, honey?” Jane asked.

“No,” Darcy mumbled from her couch pillow. She opened one eye. The corner of the tablet--set to Forks time--said 4:21 am. “Too early. Go ‘way, Jane. Love you.” Just then, there was a smattering of voices from the tablet.

“My Lightning Sister is on the machine of the Stark?” Thor boomed.

“Is that _Rumlow_?” another male voice said. Vaguely, Darcy recognized that half of Steve’s face was leaning into the frame with Jane. His blue eyes were alarmed.

“Hey, Steve, Thor,” Darcy said, closing her eyes again.

“They fell asleep watching a movie,” Jane said, laughing. “She doesn’t want to wake him up.”

“Why is he touching her, uh, bosoms? Tell him to unhand her right this minute. Commander Rumlow! Commander Rumlow!” Steve called. Darcy opened her eyes. She realized Rumlow’s hand was now wedged between her boob and the couch cushion.

“Back to sleep, Jane,” she murmured. “Loves you all.” Darcy leaned over and turned off the tablet. On top of her, Rumlow wiggled.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got the mangos and the ammunition,” he murmured in his sleep. His lips brushed Darcy’s ear. “I didn’t drop anything.”

“Okay,” she said, falling asleep again.

 

***

When Brock woke up, he realized immediately that something was very, very wrong. He was spooning with Darcy on her couch. She was actually half underneath him. If she woke up, there was absolutely no way she’d miss the hard-on pressed against her ass. He sighed and contemplated ways to climb over her while she slept without waking her up. If she woke up while he was on top of her, she might freak out. Not that he’d blame her. Could he go over the back of the couch? He slid his arm out from under her body. His hand was slightly numb. He shook it gently. Shifting, he pushed his weight against the back of the couch. If he did it right, he could lift himself up slowly and then use his arm to pull himself over the back. There was space between the couch back and the nearest wall, so he could climb right over. As he was planning, Darcy wiggled closer to him and sighed in her sleep. Damn, he thought, she felt good. So good. Soft. Lush and feminine in all the right places. Extracting himself with difficulty, he crawled over the back of the couch and crept out of her apartment. He took a long, cold shower. When he left his apartment again, he could hear her moving around, so he went silently downstairs. Maybe she wouldn’t realize he’d stayed all night and practically dry humped her.

 

Jack was lacing up his outdoor boots. They were waterproof. “You getting breakfast?” Brock said.

“Nope. Headed out to Sequim,” Jack said, picking up his camera bag.

“Jack, we don’t have a case in Sequim,” Brock said flatly.

“Sure we do, mate,” Jack said. “I picked it up today.”

“When?” Brock said, leaning against the edge of his desk.

“Lady called at 6am. I think you were cuddling with Darcy on her couch at the time?” the Australian said cheerfully.

“Shh,” Brock said. “For fuck’s sake, I don’t want her to hear, okay? I’m hoping she doesn’t realize I didn’t leave once she fell asleep. It’ll make things weird if she realizes we, uh, slept on the couch together. Let me take the case, okay? I could use a little work?”

“Nah, client and I have already established a rapport, it’d be odd if I handed it over to you. Stay here with Darcy,” Jack said, grinning. At just that moment, Darcy came around the corner, humming a little to herself. “Nice song, love,” Jack said. “Who is it?”

“It’s the Postmodern Jukebox cover of Lady Gaga’s “A Million Reasons,” have you heard of them?” Darcy asked.

“They’re good,” Brock admitted.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. He listened to my iPod on the way back here last night,” Darcy told Jack.

“You’d like this band called Lord Huron,” Brock told Jack.

“Here,” Darcy said, pulling out her earbud and stretching up to stick it in Jack’s ear. She swayed a little on her tiptoes to reach his ear and then sank back and fiddled with the iPod. “That’s _Strange Trails._ It’s an incredible album. I’ll make you a mix for stakeouts, Jack. Have you heard of The Lumineers?”

“Can’t say I have. But I’d appreciate that, love,” Jack said, smiling.

“Do I get one?” Brock asked her.

“Is he always this competitive with you?” Darcy asked Jack, rolling her eyes.

“Yes,” Jack said.

“No,” Brock said, tapping his fingers on the edge of his desk.

“You should have seen him whenever we had to re-cert at SHIELD,” Jack told her. “He always had to have the best score of all the established agents on the course and the shooting range.”

“Uh-huh. You can see that from a mile away. I bet you hit on all the baby female agents, too, didn’t you?” she asked teasingly.

“Excuse me, I was always professional,” Brock said. Darcy arched an eyebrow at Jack and he gave her a feral-looking grin and shook his head.

“Sure you were. Tell that to my left boob, my dude. Oh, I forgot! Don’t worry if Steve says anything to you about this morning,” Darcy said. “I told Jane to rein him in. She and Thor can handle Steve if he decides to get more overprotective.”

“Wh-what?” Brock said. He’d stuttered a little, Jack noticed.

At the same time, Jack asked, “Captain Rogers?”

“Yeah, that Steve. Jane called on the tablet this morning and saw us both crashed on my couch? I was half-asleep and didn’t turn off the tablet until Steve started squawking like a kicked chicken ‘cause Brock inadvertently boob-grabbed in his sleep and, well, you know how Steve is about ladies and manners and stuff. But I can always call in Bucky with Steve. Bucky can physically handle him. The real problem child is Tony. He might decide to suit up and come make dirty jokes and totally blow our carefully constructed death certificates,” Darcy said, sighing.

Jack looked at Darcy, then Brock, grinning. “That so?” Jack asked. “Well, I guess I better get myself to Sequim then. You two have a nice day. I’ll probably stay overnight, maybe even two days, but I’ll call if anything changes,” Jack said, pulling his raincoat down off a hook. Once he’d put the rain slicker hood on his head, along with a ball cap, Darcy cracked up.

“What?” Brock asked.

“I’ve just figured out that Jack looks like the murderer from _I Know What You Did Last Summer,”_ she said.

“Well, that’s a bloody disappointment,” Jack said. “I was really hoping for more of a Stephen King look, love. Much more fierce. Is this color not good with my eyes?”

Darcy practically rolled on the floor with laughter. “Jack, my dude, you’re a trip and I adore you,” she said, hugging him goodbye. She waved at him out the window as he sprinted to his vehicle in the rain and drove away. Then she wandered back into the main room downstairs.

“I’m gonna miss him,” Darcy announced as she plopped down in Jack’s empty chair at the desk across from Brock’s. “He’s so tall,” she said. “My feet don’t even touch the floor in this chair. What are we doing today? I think we’re alooooone now?” she asked Brock, smiling.

“I’m going for a run,” he announced suddenly.

“You’re leaving?” Darcy said.

“Don’t leave the building,” he told her, “unless it’s an emergency, okay?”

“All righty,” she said. He went upstairs, changed clothes, and said he’d be back later. She watched him jog to the truck out the window. “Weird,” she said, out loud, once he’d disappeared. “Runners are weird.” She missed being able to chat with Mr. Fishy when she was alone.

 

***

Brock was trying to calm down. He’d driven to one of the park lots to run on a trail. Fucking Jack, leaving them alone overnight? Brock knew that look. Jack was plotting to get him laid, just because Jack always claimed he was easier to deal with when he was getting some. Which was total bullshit. Like he was that obvious? But Brock didn’t feel easy to deal with at the moment.  Close contact with Darcy seemed to be messing with his libido. He felt wired and twitchy. He hadn’t been this desperately horny since he was about fourteen. He couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt to wake up on top of her. It was like an itch that he just couldn’t--or wouldn’t--reach. Probably this town and all the isolation. What if they slept together and then she wanted, like, actual commitment and shit? He should probably pick up one of the boring _Twilight_ moms, he thought, stopping along the trail’s edge to stretch his shins. She’d blather on about the fucking trees and ferns and the beauty of the magical landscape and he’d let her project whatever weirdo vampire fantasy she wanted to onto him for a night. He’d never have to talk to somebody like that again. He’d done it a few times since they’d been moved to Forks, but the last woman had wanted him to bite her and that was just a bridge too goddamn far. Freaky shit.

 Twelve miles of running in rain left him shivering and slightly less turned on. When he returned the office, his shoes were all squeaky and sodden with rain, his legs ached, he was (praise God) only half-hard. He could deal. It wasn’t until he saw the note on his desk in Darcy’s scrawl-- _Hey, gone to the store, dude. Be back eventually_ \--that his heart sank.

 

***

“Where the fuck you been?” Darcy heard Brock say as soon as she walked through the door with her grocery bag. She had on the raincoat she’d bought in Port Angeles, plus a cheery umbrella with Joy from _Inside Out_ on it. A second later, he was taking her umbrella and bag.

“Hey, you’re back! Don’t hurt my fave umbrella,” she said. Darcy loved Joy. She’d cried at that whole part about Bing Bong, though. Ugh. Just thinking about it made her sad.

“The umbrella’s fine. You left?” he said.

“Calm down. I went for Pop-Tarts and real food, stopped by the occult store, and I wanted to go to the library, but it was closed,” Darcy told him. “Who peed in your cornflakes?”

“I was worried,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you not to?”

“Won’t people think it’s weird if I don’t?” she asked. “Like you and Jack keep me locked in the basement? They’ll think I’m your sister wife? Or whatever it is when there’s one wife and two men?”

“What are you talking about?” he said. Suddenly, he grinned. “I don’t know. Maybe they will. I was worried,” he said. “There are a lot of freaks out there, sweetheart. Just check in with me next time. Text or whatever.”

“Phfft,” Darcy said, sticking her tongue out at him. “I am fine. Guess what I’ve got planned? Dinner and a movie. You’re doing this with me.”

“What am I doing?” he asked.

“Helping me cook and then watching the first _Twilight_ movie with me,” Darcy said.

“Shit,” he told her. “I remember the other reason I didn’t want you wandering around Forks alone,” he groused.

“That’s a yes, isn’t it?” she said. “We’re having chicken paillard and a fancy salad. That’s on your diet, right?”

 

He was a really good cooking assistant, Darcy thought. He chopped up half a red onion for her and washed salad while she cut and hammered down the chicken breasts so they’d cook easily. He only laughed at her a little bit. “You sure you don’t want me to do that?” he asked, when she mis-aimed her mallet and almost got her fingers.

“Okay,” she said. A few bashes later and her chicken breasts were perfectly flat. Those muscles weren’t just decorative, she thought.

“What now?” he asked.

“Marinade,” she said, gesturing towards the plastic bag she already had olive oil and balsamic vinegar in. “Then you cook them in a panini maker.”

“That’s why you got that thing?” he asked. “For meat, not sandwiches?”

“No, it does both, but this is Jane’s favorite kind of chicken. I can always get her to eat this, even when she goes on Science! Benders,” Darcy said, picking up the chicken breasts and putting them into the marinade bags. “Plus, you can’t run an outdoor grill in Norway in November. I had to improv. You like pepper? I love pepper and lemon. I’m a lemon pepper freak.”

“Whatever you want to do,” he said.

“Yay! I love the easily influenced,” Darcy said, shaking lemon pepper over the chicken breasts. “Now we let the chickens sit for twenty minutes. You can heat up the panini maker. I usually have a drink now. You want a beer?” she asked him.

“Yeah,” he said, giving her that blank look again. She wondered if he needed to eat more.  

 

“How’d you learn to do that?” he asked her, once the chicken breasts were cooked and she was putting them on a plate with arugula, onion, and a drizzle of lazily-made salad dressing: just vinegar, oil, and some salt and pepper.

“The internet. A website called Serious Eats,” she said. “I got really sad sometimes when Jane and I were working and real food seemed to help my moods. I’m sad I can’t find balsamic glaze in Forks. I’d normally put it all over this. I’ll have to order some, it’s really good. You not going to freak if I put bacon and goat cheese on your salad, too, are you?” she teased. She’d made him microwave the bacon and caught him eating a piece when he probably thought she wasn’t looking.

“No,” he said, sipping his beer.

 

He must’ve liked the food, Darcy realized. He cleaned his plate and then finished off the bit of arugula salad she’d left behind, too. She grinned at him. “What?” he said.

“You liked my girl salad,” she said.

“It had bacon on it,” he said. “You’re a good cook. Really good.” Then he gave her one of those weird looks again.

“Do you realize you do a thing where you just stare and blink very slowly?” Darcy asked him. He gave her a gradual smile and shook his head slightly.

“I’ll do the dishes,” he said. “You want coffee?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “It’s fun to watch someone else do dishes. I usually make Thor do them. He’s happy to, but sometimes he drops things or gets into bubble fights with Loki.”

“You have interesting stories, sweetheart,” he said, chuckling.

  
***

“You can tell this was written by a woman,” Brock said, once they were watching _Twilight_. He’d been asking her plot questions.

“How?” Darcy asked.

“The glittery virgin hero, for one,” he scoffed.

“You think only women write no sex until marriage things?” Darcy asked.

“We’re supposed to believe the vampire who has killed people wouldn’t have sex? What guy would not have sex with his girlfriend?” Brock said. “Nobody I’ve ever met.”

“I have,” Darcy said. “It happens.”

“Sure, it does,” he said. “In books.”

“Um, my one high school boyfriend was from a super religious family, so we didn’t have sex. Lots of people in my hometown didn’t. My high school sex ed program was all about abstinence. Have you heard the whole ‘used gum’ thing?” Darcy said. Brock scoffed.

“It’s bullshit,” he said. Darcy nodded in agreement.

“I knew that was crap, but my mom was super afraid I might get pregnant accidentally and it would keep me from college,” Darcy said. “So, we never had sex.”

“Yeah, but you fooled around, I’m sure,” he said.

“Um, not really? Not anything more heavy than intense kissing, honestly.” Darcy said. “Brian was really sincere about his Christianity. A total Edward.”

“That means he was gay, sweetheart,” Brock said.

“No, no, he has four kids with his wife now,” Darcy said. “Shut up. He just didn’t want to fool around with me outside of marriage. We tried to do long distance my freshman year of college, but it fizzled out. I think he’d probably met his now-wife then.”

“Seriously?” Brock said, shaking his head. “You were together for more than a year, but you didn’t have sex? That was not a thing people in my generation ever felt the need to do, trust me.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Darcy said, watching Edward and Bella onscreen. “I have the worst luck with sex anyway.”

“How so?” he asked, setting down his coffee. He was looking at her intently.

“Um, well, this is so awkward to explain. Like, hella awkward,” Darcy said. “I’ve never really had good sex?” she said quietly. She put her head down on a couch pillow. “Ahhh,” she said. “It’s so humiliating,” she said, her voice muffled. “I mean, I’m thirty,” she said.

“You’ve never had good sex?” he asked quietly.

“Not with somebody. At first, I thought it was me? I thought I had sexual dysfunctions or something. But my cousin got me a vibrator as a gag gift before I went to Norway the last time and I realized I could have plenty of orgasms alone, just not with anyone. I haven’t had that many partners, though. Just three.”

“Just three? You?” Brock said, blinking slowly. He sounded shocked.

“See! Exactly,” Darcy said, peering up at him. “Everyone acts like that. Why? I don’t get it? Do I look like someone who has had more? What does that mean? Do I have, like, a promiscuous face or something?”

“No,” he said, chuckling, “I just assumed there were men chasing you everywhere,” he said in what she thought was a wry voice. “Since the God of Mischief’s making you jewelry and Cap’s taking you out.”

“Oh em gee, no. I was a total geek for years. Chubby, braces, on the debate team, you know? Not a lot of male interest in high school at all,” she said.

“Or guys were afraid of your mother shooting them,” Brock said. Darcy laughed.

“I could tell people that, though, couldn’t I?” she said, grinning. “That’s a better story.”

“You’re telling me there was no interest when you got older?” he asked. He was rubbing his jaw and looking at her with that oddly unreadable expression. His eyes were on her.

“Um, no?” she said, making a face. “In college I never got into hookups; I dated one guy, Dan, on and off for two or three semesters beginning in my sophomore year after Brian and I broke up. I went out with another political science major for a few months in my senior year, too. We split when I became Jane’s intern. I thought it was just lack of experience and sex would get better when I’d been with someone in a committed relationship? Then Ian from England after the elves thing. Ian and I dated for years between my trips with Jane, but the sex was just blah. It wasn’t, like, painful, it was just...no fireworks, you know? He was so reserved, he didn’t even like to say the names of body parts out loud, so he certainly didn’t want to talk about it to make it better. I tried, but he would get all wound up and then say it made him performance conscious and not touch me. That’s all.”

“Bullshit,” he said.

“I’m not lying,” she said defensively. “Why would I lie about something that embarrassing?”

“No, I don’t mean that, I mean somebody who can’t say _dick_ or _pussy_ out loud is never gonna be good in bed,” he told her in a serious voice. “Doesn’t matter what you do.”

“Oh, he didn’t even like it when I moved or made noise too much,” she said. “He wanted me to be quiet, so he wouldn’t be distracted,” Darcy said.

“Jesus Christ, that’s more fucked up than the sparkly vampires playing baseball,” he muttered. “So, you’ve never been with anybody fun or good at all?”

“You don’t have to say _at all_ in that voice, like I just told you that I’m an axe murderer,” Darcy grumbled. When she looked up, he was grinning at her. “What?” she said.

“There’s a lot you haven’t done, isn’t there?” he asked. “Not just rain sex, huh?”

“Ahhhh,” Darcy said, plopping her face down into the couch pillow again. “Don’t ask me specific questions,  it’s too embarrassing, I’ll die,” she said. She moaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chicken paillard is very good: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7FsZKMB62eM


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half the fun of writing Brock Rumlow: I can give him Grumpy Old Man (TM) opinions and speeches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!
> 
> (Note rating change to M for this chapter!)

Darcy’s face was still smooshed into the couch pillow when she felt Brock lean down to pat the back of her head gently and stroke her hair. “What are you doing?” she asked, in a pillow muffled voice. Was he actually pitying her? Oh God. Everytime she looked at him now, she’d know he knew and felt sorry for her. Jane’s attempts to set up her with Steve or Loki and stories about how sex had been ‘just okay for me, too, Darce,’ until she met Thor were bad enough. Now he’d be making pitying faces at her, too.

“It’s not you,” he said. She could hear the note of amusement in his voice. “I’m sure of that, sweetheart.” He practically petted her again, pressing his thumb down her head and neck like she was a kitten. His fingers traced the shell of her ear. “How does this feel to you?” he asked her.

“Fine,” she said. “It feels fine.” It felt better than fine, actually. There was an interesting contrast between the calloused skin of his fingertips and the gentleness of his touch. Rough soft. Soft rough. It made her want to shiver with pleasure when he touched the sensitive skin behind her ear.

“Does it make you feel scared or want to recoil?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she said. “Not at all.”

“See? You’ve just had a few crappy boyfriends and have convinced yourself you’re jinxed. You’re fine. Get up,” he said.

“You can’t possibly know if I’m bad at sex or not,” she said.  

“No?” he said in that same wry voice.

“Don’t laugh at meeeeeee,” Darcy said. “This is intensely humiliating personal information. I’m going to put this blanket over my head and pretend I no longer exist. You can go, if you want?” she said, pulling the blanket on the back of the couch over her head without looking up. It landed on her in a heap. He laughed outright then. Frigga help me, Darcy thought. Could Heimdall magic her to an isolated Realm where she’d never be seen again?

“I’m not going,” he said, chuckling. “I want to see how this movie ends. Take the blanket off your head and explain to me why he’s acting like he’s gonna hurl when she sits next to him in science class.”

“He’s attracted to her because she smells good,” Darcy said from the under the blanket. She’d turned her head, so she could see the screen through a veil of loosely woven chenille. It was like Bella and Edward were inside a fishing net.

“That was his aroused face? He looks ridiculous. I can’t believe grown fucking women like this kid and his stupid hair,” Brock said. He continued to laugh at the movie and do funny commentary for her. “Great,” he said, when Edward climbed into Bella’s bedroom to watch her sleep. “He’s basically a stalker, isn’t he?”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said.

“Every time they kiss, he looks constipated,” he said.

“He kinda does,” Darcy said. She hadn’t remembered that RPattz made those pained expressions.

 

“He’s playing piano now? This is like a terrible Paula Abdul video from 1987,” he said later. Darcy was still hiding under the blanket. “When is the baseball?” Brock asked her.

“Soon,” she said.

“Stop hiding from me,” he said. “You’re starting to hurt my feelings,” he groused. “What if you suffocate under there?”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Darcy said. They lapsed into silence again. This movie was longer and stranger than she remembered. There was the whole Port Angeles section, Bella meeting Edward and his ‘family,’ the other vampires, kidnapping, Bella’s flaky mom, near death by icy car crash, Jacob, it was really a lot of stuff.

“You’re wallowing,” he complained suddenly. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed. And look, twinkle lights, you’re missing them,” he said. “You love twinkle lights, sweetheart.” She felt him start to pull the blanket off her head.

“No,” Darcy said. “Don’t take my blanket!”

“Fine,” he said, chuckling.

“I do like the song in this prom scene, though,” she admitted. “That’s Iron & Wine.”

“It’s not bad,” he said.

 

***

 

“Agent Agent,” Tony Stark said as his face filled the video screen. “We seem to have a problem.”

“Mr. Stark, how can I help you?” Phil Coulson said neutrally. He was doing paperwork on the Bus. “Have you created another robot army or some other situation that I need to be informed of?” Phil asked the billionaire.

“I’m not the one who created the situation here. You took my sister from another mister and left her with some ex-Hydra goons?” Tony said. “And now I hear from Capiscle--who wants to go all dad with a shotgun, by the by--that one of them was busted on Jane’s Starkpad pretending to sleep and boob graze? Where is Itty Bitty?”

“Boob graze? What is a boob graze?” Phil said. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you Miss Lewis’s location over an unsecured videofeed, Mr. Stark.”

“Well, it was probably more of a grab than a graze. I reviewed the footage,” Tony said. “A graze would be going in for a hug or another item and accidentally making tata contact. This was a sleep grab scenario. Also, my feed is secure. Nobody hacks my feed.”

“But Jack is gay,” Phil said, frowning. “Oh.”

“Yeah, yeah, it was the other one. The one who yanked Cap around that elevator and did the whole _Karate Kid_  sweep the leg thing with Wilson?” Tony said. “Wilson’s a little miffed.”

“Rumlow,” Phil supplied. “I’ll have you know that Rumlow and Rollins are trusted SHIELD agents. The very best, Mr. Stark.”

“Sure, sure, that’s what you always say, until it turns out they’re brainwashed by Point Break’s greasy-haired brother and his Glow Stick of Destiny or they’ve got the guy who killed my parents hooked up to a bug zapper and locked in a bank vault,” Tony said.

“How is Sgt. Barnes adjusting?” Phil asked politely. “I’m surprised at how quickly you invited him to live with you, in all honesty.”

“You can thank Pep. We’ve been in couples’ counseling for a year and a half. It’s been helping me with my trust issues. She made Cap and his Soviet Murderbot BFF do sessions with us. Did you know they thawed him to try and kill at least seven different world leaders? Two actually lived. Thank God they didn’t have MapQuest back then,” Tony said. “It gave people a chance of surviving.”

Phil looked up at him. “MapQuest?” he said.

“Well, the arm didn’t have a navigation system until sometime in the 1990s,” Tony said. “Did you know that Soviet Murderbot also likes redheads? He and Romanoff had a whole deal.”

“I was not aware of that,” Phil said.

“So, are you going to give me Rumlow’s actual files or will I need to hack the Bus again?” Tony asked, bouncing on his heels.

“Mr. Stark, you know how I feel when you hack my systems. It ruined my whole afternoon when we couldn’t turn off that racket,” Phil said.

“Excuse me, Bon Jovi is excellent,” Tony said. “Why does no one appreciate Richie Sambora?”

“Mr. Stark, I don’t even think Richie Sambora could appreciate eight hours of “You Give Love A Bad Name” on a loop,” Phil said.

“Did you know he dated Cher after Sonny Bono but before that bagel guy?” Tony said.

“I’m afraid I did not,” Phil said.

“See, that’s the kind of fact that Itty Bitty would appreciate,” Tony said. “Give her back. You know I was against this plan from the beginning. Give me back my Itty Bitty, Agent.”

In the background, Phil heard Pepper Potts’ voice. “Tony, no,” she said.

She appeared at the corner of the frame. “Hi, Phil, how are you?” she asked, smiling.

“Fine, I’m going back to my lab,” Tony grumbled, disappearing. “Send me the file, Agent!”

“Hello, Pepper, it’s lovely to see you. You look very tan and relaxed,” Phil said.

“I just spent a Tony-free week on the Amalfi coast with Hope van Dyne. Girls’ CEO week,” Pepper said. “Have you met Hope?”

“We met once, I’m afraid she doesn’t like SHIELD much,” Phil said.

“That’s really too bad, Phil,” Pepper said. There was a wicked glint in her eye.

“Pepper Potts, please do not tell me that Natasha has taught you to be a matchmaker, too?” Phil said, sighing.

“Why Phil, what would an eligible man like yourself need me for?” Pepper said innocently.

“I will send Tony that file, if it will make him easier to deal with,” Phil said.

“Will you have lunch with Hope sometime?” Pepper asked, smiling.

“If Hope Van Dyne actually agrees to have lunch, no one will be more surprised and delighted than me,” Phil said.

“Wonderful!” Pepper said.

“But for God sakes, don’t tell Hank,” Phil said abruptly. “Hank loathes us all because of Peggy and Howard’s machinations over his formula.”

“Why do you think Hope agreed to my plan?” Pepper said.

 

***

“You want more coffee under there?” Brock asked as the credits rolled on _Twilight._

“Sure,” Darcy said.

“You know what your real problem is?” Brock said, when he returned, setting her mug on the coffee table. He unwrapped a peppermint. “Mint?” he asked.

“No thank you,” she said politely. “You’re going to tell me, aren’t you?” she said. She could tell--even through the blanket--that he was gearing up for a speech.

“It’s not you, it’s men in your generation. They’re not adults, they’re a bunch of manchildren,” he said. “I saw it with all the baby SHIELD agents. The women are fantastic: incredible academic and professional polish, on top of their game, want to be taken seriously in the field, just go above and beyond. By comparison, the men are a mess. These guys your age, they’ve spent their whole lives being helicopter parented, half their porn is fucking Japanese anime, and they have some of the weirdest fucking fetishes I’ve ever seen,” he said. “It’s because they stayed inside and learned about women--what they wanted to know about women, which ain’t much--from videogames and Michael Bay movies. No wonder women respond to constipated-face Cullen, because at least he’s attracted to his girlfriend as a living, breathing person, not a plastic sex doll. So, of course, your dipshit boyfriend doesn’t want you to move during sex and he doesn’t want to actually talk about it, either. Let me guess, he also found body hair unattractive?” He popped the peppermint in his mouth and Darcy heard it crunch.

“Um, I don’t know,” Darcy said, peering out from the blanket. “Ian never talked about that or expressed a preference, he didn’t even like to talk about that stuff with me. But the guy I dated my senior year didn’t like it unless you were fully waxed,” she admitted.

“See?” he scoffed. “Mouth-breathing creeps.” He shook his head. “We had a hell of time keeping the online men’s manifesto culture shit out of SHIELD, too,” he said bitterly. “Hydra was overrun with that sexist, racist crap.”

“You know about that?” Darcy said. A lot of people didn’t; Darcy had gotten a rude awakening on toxic online culture when some wackadoodle had written a bunch of posts about Jane several years ago. “Some jerk did this whole blog about how Thor wouldn’t leave Jane for Asgard if she was a homemaker and in her proper place as a wife and mother,” Darcy said. “Also, that she was well past her peak attractiveness over thirty and he’d be better off with someone who was as young as possible. Like sixteen or seventeen. It was creepy.”

“It’s too bad she couldn’t portal that fucker to Jotunheim,” Brock said, chuckling.

“We talked about it,” Darcy said. “But we sorta needed to know who he was if we were going to portal him into deep space. Loki offered to find him by magic, but I didn’t trust it.”

“Come out from under there,” Brock said, stroking her head through the blanket.

“Okay,” Darcy said, sitting up and letting the blanket slide down her shoulders.

“She’s alive!” he joked, leaning his arm over the back of the couch. “I’m telling you, sweetheart, it ain’t you.”

“No?” Darcy asked.

“Jack makes fun of me for dating baby agents, but they were all great women. I could never understand how they were single. But then it dawned on me it wasn’t them, it was us. Men their age.” He waved his other arm dismissively. “All I had to do was show up on time and shit. Fuck, I’m forty-three and I just did the stuff that was expected when I first started dating--you show up on time, you call when you say you’re gonna call, and if you really wanna impress her, you bring nice flowers and pay for dinner--and it was like I was Prince fucking Charming. That used to be the minimum! It was ridiculous. I just couldn’t believe all these stories I’d hear about these twenty-five year old guys who thought a real date was ‘Netflix and chill’ or texting somebody ‘you up?’ at 1am. Of course they’re shit in bed,” he said.

“Do you really expect me to believe you’ve never texted “you up?” to somebody?” Darcy asked. “I’m not that naive, Brock Rumlow.”

“Not as a first date! I have some manners, okay?” he said, grinning at her. He moved fluidly--pressed his palms and fingers together in a mock angel pose--and raised his eyebrows at her. “I save that text for the second date,” he said.

“Very angelic,” Darcy snarked playfully. “I like your tattoos, though.” He had designs on the undersides of both forearms that were barely visible under the pushed-up sleeves of his grey v-neck. She really wanted to look at them, but she knew that drove people with ink crazy sometimes.

“I’m just happy to see your face again,” he said. “I thought you might be dead under that thing. C’mere,” he said, holding his arms out. He wanted to hug her. Did he think she was that upset? She crawled to his side of the couch on her knees, afghan trailing behind her and he pulled her practically into his lap.

“This is such a weird night,” Darcy said, as he wrapped his arms around her and started rubbing her back and upper arms. Her face was pressed against the collar of his shirt. He had a muscular neck, too, Darcy realized. That shoulder-neck muscle thing. What was that called? Traps? Delts? Whatever it was, it felt impressive and smelled really good. Was he was wearing sandalwood cologne? It was something faintly spicy and woodsy smelling, but not obnoxiously loud like a lot of men’s colognes.

“No shit,” he said. “I can’t believe you’ve only fucked three people. That is unbelievable.” He laughed into her hair.

“Shut up. I see you laughing at me and I don’t appreciate it,” she said.  She needed to find out what cologne he wore, because it was really yummy and she wanted to spray it on the t-shirts that she slept in. The thought made Darcy’s brain stall for a second. What was she thinking?

“It doesn’t seem unbelievable to you?” he asked wryly.

“Of course not. It happened to me, it seems very believable,” she said.

“Have you not seen you?” he asked. “Your pretty face?”

“Pffht. What’s this?” she asked, feeling something cold against her nose. She’d leaned in closer to smell him. He was wearing a long chain around his neck. She’d never noticed before.

“Old dog tags from my Navy days,” he said. “I wear ‘em sometimes now.”

“Do those have your real name on them?” Darcy asked.

“Maybe. What if I make dinner next?” he said suddenly. His thumb was rubbing small circles on one of her upper arms.

“What’s your real name?” she asked, reaching for the chain. He flicked her hand away.

“Nope,” he said, resettling his arm around her waist. “That’s need to know, sweetheart.”

“You know a lot of personal stuff about me,” she pointed out.

“You eat beef? Steak?” he asked, ignoring her comment.

“Very rarely. I really don’t like hamburgers and sad cow eyes get to me,” she admitted. “I probably haven’t had steak since I was a teenager.”

“But you eat chicken?” he asked incredulously. He still hadn’t let her go.

“I don’t really want to cuddle them, though. It’s the beady eyes and _The Birds_ , I have this feeling they’d murder me, too. It’s self-defense,” she said, resting her cheek against his shoulder. He laughed.

“Allergies?” he asked.

“Nope,” she said. Giving people extra-long hugs and offering to make them dinner was apparently his way of making them feel better?

“Hmm,” he said. “I gotta think about what to make. I didn’t expect you to be such a good cook. I thought I just had to bring something better than Pop Tarts. Didn’t know it had to be A-game.”

“Rude,” she said. “Are you letting me go yet?”

“Nah,” he said. “I think I need you to hold me. I’m afraid of sparkly vampires.”

“Cut it out,” she said, pulling back a little. “I’m really not all that shattered by my terrible love life. It’s embarrassing, but I can live with it. You don’t have to try and bolster my ego with compliments and meals and stuff.”  She watched the muscles in his neck move.

“That what you think I’m doing?” he said quietly. She looked up at him. He was giving her that blank look again. He blinked. Darcy raised an eyebrow and looked at him expectantly.

“What?” she said. “It’s not?”

She wasn’t anticipating it when he leaned forward and kissed her. For a second, Darcy couldn’t believe it was happening. But she caught on quickly that Brock was a very good kisser. Captivating. His mouth was warm and tasted faintly of coffee and peppermint. Her brain went a little fuzzy as he kissed her. She didn’t know how to describe it. He wasn’t rough or aggressive or even sloppy. She’d had sloppy and uncomfortable kisses before. This was playful. He wasn’t rushing her or trying to pry her clothes off. This was kissing to kiss. She felt a flood of arousal when he sucked at her top lip, grazing it slightly with his teeth. Darcy hummed with pleasure and felt him grin against her mouth. She leaned into the kiss, shifting her weight against him. She was fully in his lap now. He moved his hips slightly to get her closer and Darcy really wanted more of that friction. The warm, throbbing, yearning feeling between her legs increased when he slid his tongue in her mouth. Without breaking the kiss, he ran his hands slowly down her body and she shivered. When she made an encouraging sound, he switched to sucking at her bottom lip. Darcy could be kissed like this forever, she thought. The teasing shifts between sucking at her mouth and using his tongue were hypnotic.

“Ooh,” she said, when he finally pulled away and looked at her. Stared, really. For a second, he was expressionless, then he grinned lazily. That smile was lascivious. She could feel the blush rising on her chest. Had anybody ever looked at her like that?

“You know,” he said casually, as she sat there, shocked and blushing, “I’ve always thought the secret to good sex was attentive, thorough foreplay. Do you have opinions about that? Preferences?”

“Oh my God,” Darcy said.

“Yeah?” he said. He kissed her mouth again, then dusted kisses lightly all over face, even her eyelids. His stubble was pleasantly scratchy.

“That face. That’s not just a bored, weird SHIELD look. That’s your sex face!” she said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t call that my sex face,” he said wryly. “I hope my sex face is better.” He kissed her neck, shifting her above him slightly by boosting her with his leg. He was strong.

“You even looked at me like that in the restaurant,” she said, as his stubble tickled her collarbone.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said. “I have a lot of thoughts about your neck. And other parts of you,” he said, eyeing her breasts appreciatively. It was obvious her nipples were hard. “You’re all flushed,” he said. “See? You’re having a good time with me.“

“You’ve been looking at me like that since we met,” Darcy said. She was still stunned and processing it out loud. The hot, muscular ex-SHIELDRA double (triple?) agent was presently sucking on her earlobe and stroking one of her breasts, as if they had all the time in the world. It felt incredible. She moaned with pleasure and he grinned at her.  

“You like that, huh?” he asked.

“You want to fuck me?” she asked finally.

“You kept trying to get me to eat your donuts, sweetheart, but that’s not what I really want to taste,” he said, trailing kisses over her collarbone. He paused and gave her a carnal look. “I can say pussy, in case you’re worried,” he said. “In a couple of languages. And you can make as much goddamn noise as you want with me. I don’t mind.”

 

They moved to her bed and Brock slowly stripped her down to her underwear. When he took off his own clothes, the sight of him in his boxers made her feel like she was having a freaking cardiac event. “How are you made like that?” she said, heart racing. “Is that an eight-pack? You look like an anatomy sketch,” she said. He laughed.

“I work very hard so that beautiful young women will be impressed when I take my clothes off,” he said, grinning and dropping his dog tags on the floor with a jangle. “You wanna kiss some more? I wanna kiss you again.”

 

***

“My feelings are a little bit hurt, man,” Sam Wilson said to Steve. “I thought Darce was a bro. Bros before Hydra hoes.”

“Hydra hoes? He was undercover,” Bucky said, looking at him quizzically. He was tossing his knife in Jane’s lab. The three of them were secretly visiting her new observatory. Bucky had a little thing about Jane. Steve liked to tease him about how much time he spent in her lab, offering to repair things and generally demonstrating an interest in science and machinery as he made puppy dog eyes at her. Bucky missed having Jane in the Tower. She had helped him feel comfortable around scientists and people in white coats again. For a long time, just the word doctor had been viscerally upsetting.

“Like that matters,” Sam said.

“You’re just sore because he whacked you good on floor 42 or wherever it was, Sam,” Steve said. He was sketching Darcy’s goldfish. Jane was sending a care packet, as soon as her surprise gift from Darcy arrived and she got the return address. Steve thought Darcy would appreciate a sketch of Mr. Fishy.

“41st. I thought you didn’t like him either?” Sam said. Steve sighed.

“It was the, uh, sleep touching that I didn’t like,” Steve said. “Active consent, you know? But if Darcy is fine, it’s her call, not my business.”

“Steve, I’m very proud of how you’re adapting to 2018 mores and values,” Jane said from behind a piece of equipment.

“Thank you, Jane,” Steve said, beaming. He’d freaked a little when he’d seen the video, but Jane had explained that Darcy would have tased Rumlow if she didn’t feel comfortable sleep-cuddling him. As far as Steve knew, no tasing had been necessary. Anyway, Darcy was a tactile person; she hugged Jane constantly, gave Bruce shoulder rubs when he seemed stressed, got piggyback rides from Bucky and Thor, and liked to ruffle Steve’s hair when he was sketching. Modern people were sometimes affectionate like that. It was a change for Steve. Adults didn’t touch like that in the 1940s, only children. Especially people who weren’t in relationships.

“I heard Rumlow was winning that fight before y’all both jumped into that helicopter. That true?” Bucky asked Sam casually. He tossed his knife in the air. He was good at trick knife throwing. Had Jane noticed? He looked over her at her. She was peering at a readout with a bit of ink on her nose. It was very cute, Bucky thought.

“Who told you?” Sam said sharply. Steve grinned to himself.

“Tony,” Bucky said. “There’s surveillance of the building collapse in his file.”

“It was a fake fight,” Sam grumbled. “Just for the Hydra guys on commms.”

“His bruises were real, though,” Steve said. “Still had ‘em when I woke up in that hospital bed, Buck.”

“Fight choreography got messed up,” Sam said defensively. He didn’t like mentioning how much he was glad Brock Rumlow wasn’t actually Hydra. If he had been, Sam wasn’t sure he’d be alive. It had been a relief to find out some of Rumlow’s strength was Hydra serum-related, too; it made up for almost getting your ass whooped by a dude that age.

 

***

“Mhmm,” Darcy said, intelligently, as Brock kissed her mouth and rested his weight on her. She was tangling her fingers in his hair and kissing him back when he stopped.

“You comfortable? Okay with me on top of you like this?” he asked in concern. “I don’t want you to feel trapped or pinned down, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” she said, swallowing. “It’s good. It’s really good, baby.” She felt warm all over. Aroused and comfortable in equal measure. He was very into kissing.

“Call me that again,” he said. “I’ve been wanting you to.”

“Yes, baby,” she said, grinning, as he kissed her again. “You don’t prefer daddy?” she teased. He groaned.

“Don’t tease me,” he said. “It might be one of my weaknesses.”

“Really?” she said. “Did you know there are at least two Marilyn Monroe songs addressed to a romantic, sexual daddy? I’ve always been partial to “Every Baby Needs A Da-Da-Daddy” personally,” she said. “It’s underrated.”

“How--how can it be possible that you’ve only had bad sex when you say things like this as soon as I get you in bed?” he said in a seething, hot voice. “Do you know how goddamn hard I am right now?”

“Hmm,” she said, “honestly? The sex is usually over by now. Did you want to show me?”

“Not yet. I’m just getting started,” he said intensely, hoisting his weight up to crawl down the bed. He peeled away her underwear. “You done this before?” he asked, nuzzling at her mound of Venus. She thought there was something oddly affectionate in the gesture.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. He gave her a smoldering look and another of those lazy, slow grins. He pressed one of her knees to the side and slipped her other thigh over his shoulder

“Oh. Oooh. My God. That feels incredible,” Darcy said, when he’d tucked his face between her thighs and began to lick and kiss gently. “Ughffffuuuuckhhh,” she said, arching her back in response to a wave of pleasurable sensation. He rested one arm over her belly and looked up with a smile.

“You okay up there?” he asked, licking his shiny mouth.

“Uh-huh,” she said, breathing heavily. He grinned at her, rubbed her belly, and dipped his head back down.  He worked her over slowly, lingeringly. “Oh my God, baby,” she said, feeling like she could actually keen with pleasure as the tension built in her body. She needed him. Her legs twitched involuntarily and he rocked her thigh slightly with his shoulder.  “Baby, please,” she said out loud. He picked his head up and looked at her.

“What do you need?” he asked her.

“I want you,” she said. “I want you inside me.”

He climbed on top of her again, settling his weight over her and palming one of her hips. “You sure?” he asked. “You’re ready?”

“Yes,” she said, shifting so her legs were farther apart. In response, he kissed her slowly, tenderly. “You’re killing me,” Darcy whined. He chuckled, discarding his boxers.

“You’re very impatient,” he said teasingly. Pulling his hair, she dragged his mouth down on top of hers. As they were kissing, she felt him push inside her. It was nothing like sex with Ian. It dawned on her then that she’d barely felt Ian at all.

“Fuck,” he stuttered, pausing, “you’re so tight. Jesus. I’ll go slow, baby.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, nodding. She couldn’t really talk, only feel, for a minute. He was surprisingly gentle with her until she caught her breath again.

“Good?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” she said, as he started to move. “Don’t stop.” She held onto his shoulders like a lifeline. Was it possible to die of feeling this good? She thought it might be. He was midthrust when he whispered something in her ear.

“Messina,” he said. “My original last name was Messina.” She’d closed her eyes, concentrating on the feel of everything. When she opened them again, he was looking directly at her. She realized there were little flecks of green in the brown of his eyes. “More?” he asked, swallowing. He was holding back, she realized..

“More,” she said. He increased his pace. She pressed her face against his sweat-dampened chest and moaned with pleasure. He tasted like salt and his cologne. “Oh God,” she said. “So good, so good.” Her sounds were slightly muffled by his muscles.

“Don’t, don’t be quiet,” he said in a strained voice, “I wanna hear you. Get loud for me, sweetheart.”

 

Afterwards, Darcy finally asked him about his matching forearm tattoos.  He smiled. “I got these”--he pointed to the intricate designs on the underside of each forearm--”in Thailand. I took a few days of leave after a mission in the Indian Ocean for SHIELD. They’re called Sak Yant tattoos. It’s all worked by hand with sharpened metal rods. There’s a whole sacred ceremony. They’re protective in nature,” he said, chuckling. He was smiling in an unusual way.

“What?” Darcy said.

“I messed with you about your bracelet, but Jack got one of these, too, and he always says they kept Triskelion from falling on us. I barely made that helicopter jump with the Wilson kid and he was lucky to hitch a ride with Romanoff and Fury at the right time,” Rumlow said.

“It’s beautiful,” Darcy told him, running her fingers over his forearm. “Just incredibly intricate,” she said. There was a looping calligraphic design with sacred symbols etched in four circles around a central diamond. The design was edged by swirls that reminded Darcy of temple architecture, somehow. “I would have a tattoo like this,” she said. “It’s so striking and almost...pretty.”

“Yeah. I’m very secure in my masculinity, sweetheart,” he said. “You don’t have any?” He settled his head next to her on the pillow.

“No,” she said. “Jane and I have talked about getting something little. I always wanted a watercolor one, but I’m not brave that way.”

“Sure you are,” he said. “You tased Thor. C’mere,” he said, pulling her on his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Frank Grillo has these stunning new Thai tattoos on his forearms? I wanted Brock to have them, too: https://pin.it/zapsfxmpas7yze


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olympic National Park is really otherworldly and beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos.

When Brock woke up, he was alone. Her sheets smelled faintly of cotton candy and sweat. He swung his legs out of the bed and stood up. Darcy was making coffee. She was wearing a robe printed with little fuzzy sheep. He padded silently to the bathroom, then slipped up behind her in the kitchenette. “I’d like some of that,” he whispered in her ear. She jumped.

“Oh em gee, make a noise. I’m gonna put bells on your shoes,” Darcy said.

“I’m not wearing any,” he said, bumping up against her. He was still naked.

“You’re not wearing much of anything,” she said, looking at him. He thought she looked appreciative.

“Go back to bed. I’ll get these,” he told her.

“Did you want me to take this off?” she asked, flicking her bathrobe tie at him playfully.

“Yeah,” he said. He smiled when she sprawled out on her belly and then scooted over so he could climb in next to her.

“Where do you want your tattoo?” he asked, sliding down and kissing her back. He really wanted to fuck her from this angle. Preferably in front of a mirror. He’d get her a mirror for the alcove wall opposite the bed.

“I dunno, I just have an idea of what I want,” she said. “I don’t know where the best place would be.”

“Tell me about it,” he said. He ran his fingers down her spine. She shivered a little. He grinned to himself.

“It’s silly,” she said. “Very girly. Like pumpkin spice latte, cliché girl tattoo.”

“Yeah, so?” he said. “Tell me anyway.”

“I want a watercolor butterfly or a few of them. Small, colorful. And a little text,” she said.

“What text?” he said.

“It’s ridiculous, but we wrote it down once when we were drunk in New Mexico. Pre-Thor. It was during one of our research phases that wasn’t going well. I’ve never been able to figure out where I saw it first. Maybe an inspirational poster?” Darcy said. “I have it here,” she said, reaching over to the nightstand. He watched as she pulled out a ratty little notebook and opened it to a flagged page. “This is what I joke that I want,” she said. Written in the center were two lines in a neat, soft script:

 

_Wonders never cease being findable_

_(you are proof)_

 

“See? Corny. It seemed profound when Jane and I were tired from chasing weird atmospheric stuff all night and then got wasted on the roof. You think it’s cheesy, right?” she asked him.

“No,” he said. “I don’t.” He kissed her left shoulder blade.

“Hey,” she said. “Lay on my back again?”

“Sure,” he said, setting his weight partially on top of her. “You actually like this?” he asked.

“Uh-huh, it’s like deep tissue massage,” she said.

“Oh yeah? Like this?” he asked, resting his face between her shoulder blades and rubbing the edges of her lower back with his thumbs.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “More pressure, please.” She wiggled a little when he pressed harder. “That’s so nice,” she said, sighing. He chuckled. “How painful are wrist tattoos?” she asked. “I sorta want the least painful cute place.”

“Hmmm,” he said, stroking her ribcage. “Wrist is more painful. Shoulder or top of the forearm is probably better,” he said. “I know a guy on Vancouver Island who does good work, if you want me to make a call, see if we can get you an appointment. He’s semi-retired now, but he did my first ones when he was still living on the East Coast and owes me a favor. I’ll go with you.”

“You want me to get a tattoo with you?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Why not? You want it, let’s go see a guy.”

“Which ones did he did do?” she asked.

“My Santa Muerte,” he said. It was etched on the back of his arm, above the elbow.

“Aren’t those like, drug cartel tattoos?” she said.

“Sometimes,” he said. “How did you know that?” He was curious.

“News stories about drug trafficking in Puente Antiguo, probably. We got one of the stations out of Albuquerque when the weather was nice.”

“Nice?” he asked, lazily nuzzling her back.

“Jane rigged an illegal dish for weather patterns and sometimes we picked up a tv signal. I bet it’s in a SHIELD warehouse now. Phil took it, along with my iPod and our laptops,” she said, sounding miffed.

“Still mad, huh?” he asked, chuckling.

“I couldn’t listen to music for weeks. You’re all jack-booted thugs,” she muttered.

“Yeah?” he said, slipping his hand between her belly and the mattress. He grinned when he slid his hand down and heard her inhale sharply. “You think I’m a jack-booted thug?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” she said, sounding not at all convinced. Her breathing was hitched.

“I should probably tell you the truth,” he said quietly, still touching her. “It’s need to know, sweetheart. I got the Santa Muerte after I joined SHIELD. We were involved in some heavy shit. Phil’s the one who taught me how to cook meth. Once, we went out to the desert in an RV and cooked meth for days and days--”

“That is the plot of _Breaking Bad_ , you asshole,” she interjected. “It’s an insult to tease me with television storylines while we’re naked.” He laughed.

“I wanted to see if you’d believe it,” he said, kissing the back of her neck.

“Why’d you really get it?” she asked.

“Love magic,” he said in a warm voice. “I wanted somebody back at the time.”

“Death does love magic?” she asked. “Did it work?”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “For awhile. It didn’t hurt for my SHIELD undercover assignments, either.”

“You’re surprisingly mystical for somebody who works for Phil,” she said. “Is it the aliens?”

“Probably the jumping out of planes. It teaches you how little you matter in the grand scheme of shit. You ready to fuck again?” he asked her, raking his fingers between her legs.

“Yeah,” she said. There was a stutter in her voice.

“How do you feel about being on top?” he asked her.

“Like I really should have done more cardio or something before I moved here?” Darcy said. “I’m so not athletically prepared for this.”

“No?” Brock asked, laughing.

“I actually haven’t ever,” she admitted.

“Easiest thing in the world, sweetheart. I’ll help you. Let me put on a condom on.” He rolled off her back and reached for the box on her nightstand. “Shit,” he said.

“What is it?”

“We’re running low. I’ll get more today when I go out for groceries. I’m still making you dinner, remember? ” he said. “You’d be more relaxed with music, wouldn’t you?” He picked a playlist he’d liked on her iPod and started the speaker on the nightstand.

 

***

 

She was slightly nervous about being on top. What if she jiggled unattractively or it hurt or something? He seemed to find her nerves amusing and helped her ease onto to him gradually. “Just go slowly, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

“Oh my God,” she said, when he was fully inside her.

“See?” he said, pressing his fingers into her hips and ass, guiding her movements gently. “Comfortable? Feel okay?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, swallowing. “Good.” He was hitting angles she didn’t know she had as she rocked back and forth. It made her feel breathless. He grinned at her. “What?” she asked.

“I like the view,” he said, giving her one of those lazy smiles again. Eventually he pulled her down on his chest, kissing her. “You want to switch?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. She really liked the feel of him on top of her. He rolled her over gently and separated them. He was staring at her again, studying her face. He ran his thumb over her mouth. “Kiss me again,” she said.

“Oh, I will, but first I want to try something new,” he said. He disentangled himself from her and tossed the condom in her trash can.

“I thought we were already doing that,” Darcy said as he left the bed. His ass was really amazing, she thought. He had those indentations on the side that really fit guys had. And those visible groin muscles in a v-shape, Jesus. She stared at him. It was like you could see every muscle. How did he look like that? Was it the Hydra serum? He’d mentioned it in passing. But Steve was the poster boy for serum--she and Jane had often ogled the Avengers at Tony’s indoor pool--and Steve’s chest didn’t look like that, exactly. “Come back to bed,” she told him. If she stared at him too long she was either going to die of lust or develop a complex about her own laziness.

“You are impatient,” he said in a teasing voice.

“What are you looking for?” she asked. He was searching for something on the floor.

“My t-shirt,” he said. Darcy groaned.

“You cannot be leaving now,” she complained.

“You’d be disappointed, huh?” he said, without looking at her.

“I’m so close,” she said. She knew she was whining, but dammit. He laughed.

“That sounds like begging, sweetheart,” he said wryly, finally returning with the shirt he’d worn the night before. “You ready?”

“Ready for what?” she asked as he sank onto the bed next to her.

“To feel really good,” he said.

“You’re blindfolding me?” she said, as he covered her eyes with his shirt and knotted it. It smelled like him.

“You’re going to feel everything,” he told her. She heard him unwrap another condom, then there was a long moment of silence. The anticipation was agonizing.

“What are you doing?” she said, biting her lip.

“Kissing you,” he said, from somewhere low on the bed.

“Oh Christ,” she said, moaning, when she felt his mouth. He worked his mouth up her body and then finally thrust himself inside her.

“You like that, huh?” he whispered in her ear as he moved.

“Faster,” she begged, feeling him moving in and out, his breath against her ear, the hard planes of his body and his weight simultaneously. It was dizzying. “Uhhh,” she moaned, as his thrusts grew rougher and more powerful. She came, shuddering and crying out, and he finished moments after her, shaking her body with the force of his movement.

She lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, before he peeled the t-shirt away and she could see his face again. He leaned down and kissed her. “Didn’t I tell you you’d have a good time with me?” he asked intensely.

“Yeah,” she said. “Don’t go yet. Stay with me for a few minutes. Stay there.”

“You want me to stay inside you?” he said, grinning.

“Yeah,” she said. He jerked lazily inside her again and she stroked his forearms as he kissed her a few more times.

 

Once he’d gone to get groceries, Darcy drifted around the apartment in a sex haze. This was what people meant when they said it was possible to fuck your brains out, she thought, as she drank a second cup of coffee that didn’t seem to lift the brain fog. She showered, got dressed, and was sitting on the couch, feeling slightly out of her body and still listening to the playlist he’d picked, when Jane called. “Hey, Janey,” she said, answering the Stark tablet.

“Darce, I wanted to tell you about this new wormhole thing,” Jane said excitedly. She talked for several minutes about readings and data and conference presentations and other things that would have normally held some of Darcy’s attention. Not all of it; she’d never get capital-S Science! like Erik or Bruce or Hope van Dyne. “Hey!” Jane said suddenly. “What’s up with you? And why are you listening to Lana Del Rey at 10am? Are you sad?” Sometimes, she listened to this Paradise edition of _Born to Die_ when she felt down. She’d been surprised when he’d chosen it as sex music.

“I didn’t pick the Lana, Brock did,” Darcy told her. She didn’t think it would remind her of being melancholy anymore, though.

“Today? What do you--oh my God, you slept with him, didn’t you?” Jane said. “You lied when you said the boob grab was no biggie!”

“I--I wasn’t planning on sleeping with him,” Darcy said. “It happened last night.”

“So, are you dating Rumlow now?” Jane asked. “Is this a serious thing?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy said. “I don’t think so.” She realized it didn’t feel like a relationship at all. It felt like Phil Coulson had wormholed her into some sort of alternative universe with lots of trees, weird people, coffee, and a sexy agent. It was surreal. Like _Twin Peaks,_ but mostly funny or weirdly sexy instead of frightening and creepy. She had always liked Chris Isaak.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Jane said.

“Is it?” Darcy said, more to herself than Jane. From her speaker, Lana del Rey was singing about kissing. She still felt slightly dazed.

“Darce, are you sure you’re okay?” Jane said.

 

***

When he got back to the office, she was dressed and reorganizing the client files. He leaned against the doorway of the waiting room with his grocery bags and watched her for a minute.

“Do you want to go on another stakeout before dinner? This one will involve walking. It’s up in the Olympic,” he asked her.

“The Olympic?” she said.

“The national park. Wife called me as I was leaving the store. It’s a Darlene case,” he said. “Has Jack mentioned Darlene yet?” he said.

“No,” she said.

“The official husband snatcher of Forks. She’s had five of her own and several other women’s,” he said. “If she ever moves, we’ll be sunk.”

“Like Zsa Zsa Gabor?” she said, smiling up at him. “When people asked her how many husbands she had, she always asked if they meant her husbands or other people’s husbands,” Darcy said.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, our Darlene isn’t exactly a socialite. She works at that gas station down the street,” he said.

“I’d like to see her anyway,” Darcy said.  

“I’ll drop these upstairs and we’ll go. Get your rain gear on,” he told her. As he was going to head upstairs with the groceries, two guys--truckers from their clothes--walked past on the way to the diner across the street. One of them leered at Darcy through the window and elbowed his buddy. They slowed. The first guy mimed something lewd and Brock felt a sudden spark of anger and protectiveness. Darcy--looking over her files--had her back to them and hadn’t noticed. He set the bags down and moved out the front door.

“What the fuck you think you’re doing?” he yelled, as the office door shut behind him with force. He got in the first guy’s face.

“Hey, man, I didn’t--” the guy began.

“Bullshit. I saw you, motherfucker. Get the hell out of here, before I break every bone in your goddamn body,” he said.

“We’re walking away, man,” the second guy said, holding up his arms. “We’re going. C’mon, Jimmy, c’mon.” He pulled the first guy backwards and Brock stared at them until they’d gone into the diner.

 

“Why are there two guys in logging company work shirts practically running away from you as you scream in the street?” Darcy asked him when he came back inside. She was putting on the new waterproof hiking boots they’d bought together in Port Angeles.

“It’s nothing,” he said. He felt tense and wound up. “We’re keeping those fucking blinds down now,” he said, marching over and lowering them. He’d already locked the front door.

“Nothing, huh?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, okay,” he said.

“I’m used to that, you know,” she said. Her voice sounded oddly amused.

“What?” he said.

“Leering, commenting, gestures, general grossness from men. Really old men usually when I was young. It’s a real mindfuck when you get boobs at fourteen and suddenly old drunks are eyeing you outside the Dollar Store,” Darcy said. “I’m lucky my mom was a cop. But you don’t need to protect me. That’s why I got the freaking taser in the first place.”

“Nobody’s touching you,” he said firmly. “I’ll be right back.” He unpacked the groceries in her apartment and came back downstairs. “Let’s go,” he said.

 

He was still irritated when they were ascending the trail. He didn’t exactly know why, but he kept catching himself gritting his teeth when his brain wandered back to the guys outside the office. He should have goaded Jimmy into taking the first swing. Brock wanted to have the satisfaction of breaking his nose. He’d been protective of his SHIELD coworkers before, even slept with some of them, but this was somehow different. It felt somehow...personal? It was probably this fucking town, he thought, making him off-balance. Forks had a slight male-female imbalance. That was why Darlene had had so many husbands. More local men than women. It meant the truckers passing through were sometimes pushier than usual when they saw an attractive, young woman, too. They crossed lines that were unspoken in places like DC. That was probably it.

“Where are we going exactly?” Darcy asked him, breaking his train of thought..

“She has a favorite spot,” he said. “Brings all her boyfriends here for picnics. Wife suspects they’re going today, since there’s major rain in the forecast for the next few days. We’ve just got to sit and wait.”

They were sitting in a patch of ferns uphill from Darlene’s favorite makeout spot when Darcy spoke to him again. “Do I need to be quiet?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

“This is like my first and last hunting trip,” she said, after they’d been there an hour. There was no sign of any adulterers.

“You hunt?” he said.

“No, my uncle took me once when I was little and complained that I played with the pine straw and made too much noise. I was bored,” she said.

“You bored now?” he asked.

“What?” she said, catching his look. “You want to have sex now?”

“Somebody ought to,” he said. He reached for the blanket in his bag.

“Is there poison ivy?” Darcy asked, looking around.

“No,” he said, unrolling the blanket. She sat in the middle of it and looked up at him from under her little hat.

“I can’t believe I’m about to have sex in the woods. This is how horror movies start,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, unbuckling his jeans. “C’mere.” She laugh-sighed as he slid down her stretchy athletic pants. “Mmmm,” he said, kissing her. Her mouth was impossibly plush. He fumbled with a condom. “It’ll be fine.”

“This is crazy,” she said. “This place doesn’t even look real.”

“It’s real,” he said, pushing her knees apart. It was possessiveness, he realized, as soon as he was inside her again. The feeling he felt wasn’t just impersonally protective or even friendly, it was something else. Like a craving. He’d thought it would ebb away as soon as he fucked her, that it was more about wanting the forbidden, breaking a rule. But he didn’t even like anybody else leering at her. He kissed up her neck. “Mine,” he whispered in her ear. “Mine.”

“Are you just saying mine?” Darcy asked him. “Because that is totally how horror movies start in places like this.” She giggled in his ear --there was a little hiccup with each thrust--and ran her fingers through his hair. He liked the feeling of her nails against his scalp.

“Giggle all you want, sweetheart. Doesn’t make it less true,” he said.

“Yeah?” she said. “We’re totally going to get killed by a demon or busted by some sort of woods cop,” she said. “I know it. Ooh,” she moaned.

“Feel okay?” he said. “The ground all right?”

“So good,” she told him. “You’re wonderful and nothing hurts.” She laughed. “I think I just sex plagiarized Vonnegut, baby.”

“Good,” he said. He cupped her face with his hand and kissed the side of her mouth slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, Frank Grillo also looks like he has a Santa Muerte tattoo above one elbow: https://www.instagram.com/p/BlgyY7vHGTC/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link
> 
> I'm totally fascinated by how controversial that figure is--in essence "Our Lady of Holy Death" is a folk saint with origins primarily in Mexico (and other places in Latin America). In the US, it's become entangled with drug cartels and gangs, but people ask Santa Muerte to keep their lovers faithful or bring new loves. The figure is often used to bless LGBTQ marriages, too: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Muerte


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 73%? 80%?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

That evening, Darcy pushed one of her armchairs over to the street view windows to watch the tourists mill by in the, ahem, twilight. She was sitting in it backwards. Brock had forbidden her to help in the kitchen. “You want some wine?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’d be great. Do you think Darlene is down there?” she asked curiously, resting her chin on her arms over the chair back and scanning the people below. Darlene and her current lover had never shown up for their woods rendezvous.

“Probably not, unless she likes Mexican food,” he said. “We can still bill for wait time.” There was one Mexican restaurant in town, on the corner. That seemed to be the most popular restaurant at night. There was also a pizza place in a converted gas station, but Jack had joked that the gas station’s original food was probably better. Still, the street seemed crowded---for Forks. Brock brought her a glass of wine and set it on the windowsill.

“You’re billing for our sex time?” Darcy asked.

“I’ll subtract the sex time,” he said.

“Why is the Mexican place so busy tonight?” she said.

“It’s half-price margarita night. The Mexican place does Edward and Bella margaritas,” he said. “Strawberry flavor.” He chuckled.

“Have you heard from Jack?” she asked, as he moved back to the kitchen area.

“Yeah, he’s enjoying Sequim. Apparently, he went kayaking on Dungeness Bay today. He’ll be back the day after tomorrow,” Brock said. “He’s bringing you lavender.”

“Dungeness? Like the crab?” Darcy said, sipping her wine.

“Yep, that’s where the little fuckers come from,” he said. “Crabs and lavender.” He shook his head.

“I sense scorn, my dude,” Darcy said. “What do you have against crab?”

“All shellfish are just ocean bugs,” he grumbled. “And don’t call me that.”

“You’re taking offense to shellfish and the word dude?” Darcy said, turning to look at him. He put down his kitchen knife and and walked over, slipping into the chair behind her.

“You call everybody that,” he said, nuzzling her hair.

“Oh, so it isn’t special enough for you?” she asked, turning her head.

“It’s not personal,” he said, kissing the side of her face. “I want something personal.”

“What would be personal? Baby?” she offered.

“Yeah,” he said. “Better.” When his lips brushed her mouth, they tasted faintly of beer.

“Didn’t you say that to Steve in a fight one time? Something about it not being personal? He tells that story a lot,” she said suddenly.

“Don’t talk about Cap when I’m kissing you, sweetheart,” he said, tracing kisses on her cheekbones.

“Won’t your onions burn?” she said. It smelled like the beginnings of a good soffritto.

“Hmm,” he said, huffing out a frustrated sigh. “I’m going,” he said, standing up and moving back to the kitchen. She turned in the chair.

“You won’t tell me what you’re making?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “That’s a surprise.” He had one of her dish towels slung around his neck. It made her grin. He was such a gym guy.

“Well, then, I’ll be in suspense,” she said, standing up. She walked over to the door and slid her messenger bag over her shoulder. “Right. Back in a few, baby.” She put on her hat.

“You’re leaving?” he said, sounding incredulous. “Where are you going?”

“I need to pick something up,” she said.

“What?” he asked.

“That,” she said, “is personal.” Darcy stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. Then she paused and leaned against the wall for a second. She could hear him muttering.

“Are you trying to make me crazy? I’m cooking here,” he called out. Darcy grinned and went downstairs and out the front office door. After she locked it with her key, she looked up. He was watching her from the window. She gave him a little two-handed wave and turned to walk down the street, falling in behind a group of drunk tourists.

Darcy followed the drunk tourists into Maeve’s occult shop. She’d met Maeve running errands and getting groceries when Brock had gone for that run. She realized it had probably been a lust run. The bell on the door jangled. It was a cute shop. Sort of cheerful batik-print hippie. Lots of crystals and scented candles, once you got past the _Twilight_ branded stuff. That was Maeve’s vibe. The shop owner was a redhead who reminded Darcy of Elsa Lanchester circa _Bell, Book, and Candle._ Darcy couldn’t imagine why the locals were so bent out of shape about her anyway. Maeve was awesome. “Hey, Darcy, honey!” Maeve called.

“Hi!” She waved back at Maeve, currently swamped by women seeking Edward and Jacob merch and general vamp stuff. Maeve apparently did big business in Vampire’s Kiss perfume oils and something called Vampire’s Tears necklaces (they were crystal tear drops in red). Darcy browsed the shop, intent on buying herself some stuff with Phil’s money. It was the least SHIELD could do for her, after all.

At present, she had a different sort of SHIELD undead agent problem: Brock. It just wouldn’t be right, she thought, for him to get the idea that this thing they were having meant she couldn’t go anywhere by herself. Or that she was helpless. Him cussing out those truckers and that lustful bit of possessiveness in the woods had broken through her sex haze and made her feel like herself again. She hadn’t minded his tender, careful check for ticks afterwards (Lyme disease was no joke), but she was a Self-Rescuing Princess. He might believe he could work his Saint Death sex voodoo on her until she was putty in every area of her life, but he was mistaken. She punctuated this thought with a little nod to herself, as she browsed through Maeve’s scarf collection. In the words of of certified badass Joanne Woodward (aka, Mrs. Paul Newman) in her favorite Paul Newman movie, he was “barking up the wrong girl” if he thought she was “some trembling little rabbit full of unsatisfied desires.” Well, she did tremble _some_ , but she was hardly a rabbit, right? It was harder to have these conversations by yourself, Darcy thought. She usually had them with Jane.

Jane would understand perfectly if Darcy threw out a _Long, Hot Summer_ reference (Darcy had made her watch it a million times, pausing to examine Newman’s abs and eyes) or said that she didn’t want to be Bella, moping after Brock like he was Edward Cullen. Jane would totally get it. She missed Jane and her other peeps, even though she’d only left New York to meet the Bus crew a week ago. Everything felt surreal. Was it this town? She would have sworn on Mr. Fishy that Brock Rumlow was an absolute player, likely cool and distant. He seemed born to be a womanizer. In New York or DC, she could imagine them having a one night stand and then never hearing from him again. Easily. He was not at all the type to get clingy within--what?--twenty four hours or so. That was, frankly, a little nuts. It was probably boredom from this place, she thought. He was an adrenaline junkie and a risk-taker, after all, downgraded to PI work in the Pacific rainforests. Boring stuff. He was probably just bored. Phil had mentioned that he’d ended up STRIKE Commander because he was an obsessive workaholic. That made her an interesting project, didn’t it? She was something to fixate on. Take the pretty girl apart, see what makes her tick, have a lot of sex in the bargain. This was an explanation she could accept.  Darcy still had plans to get the hell out of Forks ASAP. Those plans did not include pursuing a long distance relationship with Brock. This was just fun. He’d get that, right? Should she have a talk with him or just see if he snapped out of it quickly? She should talk to Jane about it, provided they wouldn’t be overheard. In the meantime, maybe she should handle him lightly. No heavy romance stuff. 

 

When the last proclaimed “Team Edward” t-shirt wearer had left the shop, Darcy went over the register. “Team Bella Leaves Edward for Alice One Day, hashtag true soulmates,” she said to Maeve, who laughed.

“I should put that on a t-shirt,” Maeve said.

“I would totally buy it,” Darcy said. “I wonder if the fanfiction writers have a portmanteau for them yet? Bellice? Abella?” she mused out loud.

“Are you here for the nag champa? It came in today as usual,” Maeve told her.

“Yup, I got your notification,” Darcy said. “I want the oil and the incense sticks. I need a burner, too. And I’m probably gonna buy, like, five more scarves than I actually need and some perfume oils.”

“You are a sweet child,” Maeve said to her kindly.

“I see you upselling me, Maeve. What would you recommend if I have a hot guy waiting for me back at the office?” Darcy asked.

“Not that handsome Jack, he’s practically married to that boyfriend in another state, right? Talks about him all the time,” Maeve said. “Don’t tell me he’s stepping out?”

“Nope,” Darcy said, shaking her head, “it’s the other one. Dark and sarcastic?”

“Oh,” Maeve said knowingly. “That’s why he yelled at those truckers. You’ve got him stirred up, honey.”

“How’d you know?” Darcy said. “About the truckers, I mean?”

“Small town,” Maeve said, winking.

“You wouldn’t happen to know why a guy in a silver Ford Taurus wasn’t with Darlene in her picnic spot today, do you?” Darcy asked, leaning in.

“Ah, don’t tell me you were out there today looking, were you?” Maeve said.

“Fraid so,” Darcy said. Maeve shook her head.

“Mr. Taurus wasn’t with Darlene because he’s not with Darlene, honey. He’s seeing Sophie from the pizza place. Check her house,” Maeve advised.

“Maeve, you’re a peach and I love you,” Darcy said. “You may have saved me from Lyme disease. I’m going to spend way too much money.”

 

Darcy swiped a little perfume oil on her wrists as she left the store, tucking her new purchases into her messenger, and set off towards Sophie from the pizza place’s house. She’d gotten directions from Maeve. It was two blocks away, on a little side street. Darcy weaved in between a handful of drunk tourists on one of the evening goth history tours and smiled brightly at Bob in his cape. “On this street in 1849, the ghostly captain---” Bob was saying. Darcy laughed.

Apparently, local lore included shipwrecked captains from the beaches. La Push--the _Twilight_ one--was about twenty minutes away by car. Darcy wanted to go sometime. She hadn’t yet stuck her toes in the Pacific. She turned right and left the tour group behind, a few feet away was a little blue house. Parked out in front was a Ford Taurus. Darcy snapped some pictures with her phone. “You are so busted, my dude,” she said quietly.

 

She had turned and was headed back to the office-slash-apartment when a familiar looking pattern of golden sparks emerged in front of her. For a second, Darcy thought she was seeing fireflies in the dark. Then--as the sparks formed a circular, intricate pattern--it dawned on her why she recognized them. A man staggered out of the circle and collapsed in a heap at her feet. He groaned.

“Other Steve?” Darcy said.

“Darcy?” he said, looking up at her in confusion. The corner of his cape collar twitched a little.

“Hiya, Cloak,” Darcy said to the cape. “Can I help you both up?”

“I’m afraid I’m injured,” the man said in a crisp British accent. “I may need refuge for at least the next hour or so, if it’s not too much of an imposition? We should probably leave this thoroughfare. It is rather public.”

“All righty,” Darcy said, reaching down and seizing his elbow. She helped him to his feet. He was unsteady. “How badly injured?” she said.

“I have lost some blood,” he said, sighing.

“Where’d you leave it?” Darcy asked curiously.

“Somewhere near the Amazon,” he said. “Magical artifacts smugglers again.” He patted his waist pouch and exhaled as she helped support his weight. They moved slowly back to the office.

“They didn’t get you with deadly frog poison or anything, Other Steve?” Darcy said.

“Whatever would give you that idea?” he said. “Also, as much as I am fond of you”--the Cloak stretched down to pat Darcy’s head, since Dr. Strange was taller than her--”it is difficult not to be offended when you refer to me as Other Steve.”

“People are always using frog poison in Agatha Christie, Doc. Anyhow, Captain Steve is a little senior to you, my dude. Senior citizen, in fact,” Darcy said, gently weaving him between two women wearing _Twilight_  t-shirts. “I could call you Younger Steve, but you have too much gravitas for that,” she said, trying not to grin. Other Steve felt gravitas was a crucial part of his persona. It probably was, Darcy reflected. A less confident--even arrogant--man would have fainted at the sight of all that mandatory wizard gear. His Eye of Aga-whatsits necklace was practically bling.

“I suppose that is accurate,” Dr. Strange said, sounding mollified. “Where are we, exactly?” he said suddenly.

“You don’t know?” Darcy asked.

“No, the Cloak teleported me here. I suppose it regards you as a friendly face in an emergency?” he said. “Our present location is completely unknown to me.”

“That’s sweet, Cloakie,” Darcy said. Ahead of them, two women came out of the Mexican restaurant.

“Woo-hooo! I love Bella margaritas!” one said to the other. “This place is awesome! Let’s go hiking. I wanna go hiking. Can we go hiking at night?”

“Maybe we’ll find a tall, dark, stranger,” her friend said, bumping her with an elbow. She eyed Dr. Strange.

“Helllloooo, you are hot,” the first woman said to Other Steve. “You could bite me anytime. What vampire are you? Dracula?”

“Oh Dear God,” Dr. Strange muttered. “Don’t let her near me. I can smell the tequila from here.”

“Forget it, Steve, it’s _Twilight_ town,” Darcy joked. “You’re in the place where they set the vampire books.”

“Oh,” he said, sighing, as they left the women on the curb and crossed to the office. “But why are you making _Chinatown_ jokes?” he asked. Darcy leaned him against the wall and unlocked the door.

“I dunno, it seemed funny to me. You liked it, right?” she asked the Cloak. It’s collar bobbed happily. “See?” she said to Other Steve. “C’mon in. This is home, for the present.” Once they were inside, she locked the door behind them again. “Honey, I’m home!” she called out.

“Sweetheart? That you?” Brock said. He must have the apartment door open.

“Yeah, I need a little help down here,” she said back. He appeared at the top of the stairs. “We’ve got a houseguest and he needs a temporary hideout.”

“I’m terribly sorry for the imposition,” Dr. Strange said politely, still holding his wound. The Cloak waved up at Brock. Brock stared down at them.

 

***

“Explain it to me again?” Brock said, from where they were standing in the hallway upstairs. He was still processing what was going on. He hadn’t expected her to return from her errand with a bleeding guy dressed as disco Dracula.

“That’s Dr. Strange,” Darcy said.

“ _The_ Dr. Strange?” he said.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Why else would he dress like that?” Brock looked at Strange inside Darcy’s apartment. The doctor was all bandaged. He’d magicked up some wound-cleaning and supernatural bandages while the Cloak offered its corner to Brock to shake, not unlike a well-trained pet. Now Strange was eating Brock’s cooking.

“Lots of people around here dress like that,” he said. He propped his arm up against the wall, neatly blocking Darcy in. “This is not how I thought tonight would go,” he said in a low voice, leaning close to her. “Not at all,” he said. He leaned until their faces practically touched. She smelled good. Different, but good. How did she do that?

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Welcome to my life, baby. Oh, by the way, I found out about our client’s husband. He’s not a Darlene guy, he’s a Sophie guy.”

“From the pizza place?” Brock said, surprised. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve got photos of his car outside her house,” Darcy said, smiling at him.

“You’ve got photos?” he said disbelievingly. His follow up question was interrupted by Dr. Strange.

“I believe I have trespassed on your hospitality long enough,” the man said to them, looking curiously from him to Darcy.  “I trust you will keep my whereabouts and movements a secret?” Strange asked Darcy.

“Ditto, my dude,” Darcy said. “My whereabouts are also top secret.” Strange nodded. Gesturing towards the Cloak--it slipped obligingly over his shoulders, Brock noticed--he prepared to leave. With a swirling gesture, he activated a portal. “Bye, Steve!” she called, as he stepped through. “You really should give the Cloak a name! I vote for Geoffrey!”

“Geoffrey?” Brock said.

They watched the portal disappear from the center of Darcy’s living room. “I always think it looks like sparklers when he does that,” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” Brock said. Where had she been tonight, he wondered. Who’d told her about Sophie? It was driving him crazy. She’d just bounced out of the apartment, as if leaving while he cooked was no big deal, then disappeared for forty minutes. Somehow, she’d half-solved his adultery case (they probably needed more incriminating photos) and returned with a bleeding Avenger. Was Strange an Avenger? He had no idea of the technicalities of Avengers membership.

“Did you know Tony calls Other Steve his ‘awesome facial hair bro’? Isn’t that hilarious?” Darcy said. “It embarrasses Strange so much.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said. Women did not just leave him in the middle of cooking dinner, goddammit. He wasn’t used to this at all. “Where’d you go tonight? How’d you find out about the case?” he asked.

“I have my ways,” she told him, with an infuriating piquancy.  Her lush mouth turned up at the corners. “What?” she asked him.

“You’re not going to tell me?” Brock asked. He was unsettled. He rubbed the back of his head.

“I’m hungry,” Darcy said, as if he hadn’t spoken. She got two plates out of the cabinet. “Did you want another beer?”

“Sure,” he said. They sat across from one another at the kitchen island.

“I think I’d like some music,” she said. She fiddled with the iPod.

“Who is this?” he asked, when music emerged from the speaker. “Or are you not going to tell me that, either?”

“It’s Natasha Atlas and Transglobal Underground,” she said. “You’re a very good cook, by the way. I’m impressed.”

“It’s chicken,” he said, shrugging.

“Garlic, onions, and a spice…?” she asked.

“Oregano,” he said. He watched her eat.

“You’re giving me sex face again,” she said, grinning at him.

“Yeah,” he said.

 

***

“Where’d you go?” Brock asked again. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“I’m not telling, even if we are technically in the middle of something,” she said. They were in bed. He was on top of her. It was post-something, really. He’d spent the last hour edging her towards orgasm and then—at the last possible moment—stopping and asking where she’d gone. When she demurred, he’d start the cycle all over. Finally, he’d given up. Or at least she thought he had, since they’d both climaxed. But no, he was asking again. God, he was stubborn. It was difficult to get mad when it felt this good, though.

“Why not?” he asked, jerking his hips languidly. He knew she liked that, damn him.

“It is impossible for me to have any mystery as a woman if you keep pestering me,” she said calmly. She thought Myrna Loy had said something similar once in a movie.

“Mystery? There’s no fucking space between us, sweetheart, how can there be mystery?” he asked.

“Are you worried I’m with somebody?” Darcy asked, curious. He was kissing her ear.

“No, no, I just—I want to know and you won’t tell me,” he said.

“Baby,” she said, “you might have a problem.”

“I got a real problem,” he said. He tangled his fingers through her hair. “How do I fix it?”

“I don’t know,” she said. She had no meaningful experience with possessive, macho men. The guys she’d dated had always been un-possessive. Decidedly. She didn’t think wrangling Tony’s sads and tantrums counted, either, since Tony’s emotions were more boyish. He just didn’t want to share his toys with SHIELD. Whatever was going on in Brock’s headspace was different.

“I think I need more of you,” he said.

“How can you? There’s no fucking space between us,” she said, echoing his words back to him.

“Oh, that’s good, sweetheart. That’s a good one,” he said. He punctuated the sentence with another lazy thrust.

“Uh-huh,” she said, smiling. It felt good. He tilted his head and looked at down at her. She thought his expression was strangely thoughtful.

“You’re a minx,” he said, cupping her face. “Underneath all that cutesy stuff, you’re a damned minx. That’s the real you.” He stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. “It’s like there are two of you. The Darcy Lewis everybody thinks they know and the real one, underneath. She's all mine.”

“Nuh-uh,” Darcy said, shaking her head.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning down and giving her one of those long, slow kisses. When he pulled away, she bit her lip to hide a giggle. “What? What?” he said, thumbing at her chin.

“How often did that line work with the baby agents? 73%?” she asked.

“Seventy-three percent?” he asked, frowning in confusion.

“Eighty percent?” she offered, laughing. “I’ve probably underestimated. I bet it went over.”

“The fuck that’s supposed to mean?” he said.

“All those buttoned up agents, just waiting for someone to come along and tell them they had a hidden sexy side?” Darcy said, laughing. “I mean, it’s a good line, baby. A plus. I can picture them all melting into your arms. That's what everyone wants someone to tell them, really. Top notch work.”

“All right, all right,” he said. He sighed. “Maybe I’ve said some version of it before, but I really mean it this time.”

“Would some version be, perhaps, identical?” she teased.

“I’m gonna fucking kiss you to make you be quiet,” he groused.

***

Her Starkpad was buzzing on the nightstand. “Huhmpf,” Darcy said, trying to lean over and answer it. She was stuck on her stomach somehow? It was Brock. He was using her back as a pillow, snoring lightly. “Get up,” she said. “I need to get a t-shirt and answer that. It’s Jane.” It was just after 8am. She reached back and touched his arm. The t-shirt was just out of reach on the floor. She shook his arm again.

“No,” he muttered, burying his face deeper into her low back and clasping her hips.

“I have to answer Jane,” she said, laughing.

“So answer,” he said sleepily.

“You want Jane to see you naked?” she asked. “Or see me naked?”

“Here,” he said, tossing her his shirt. It was at the end of the bed. “Take mine.” Then he pulled the sheet up over his waist.

“Are you sure?” Darcy said. Jane was used to Asgardian nudity, so it all likelihood it wouldn’t bother her to be flashed accidentally, but she didn’t want either one of them to be upset.

“Yeah,” he muttered. She pulled the shirt over her head. It covered her up, mostly. Checking to make sure they were both covered up first, she adjusted the sheet. Finally, she tapped the Starkpad and Jane’s face popped up on the screen.

“Hey, Jane,” Darcy said.

“Did I wake you up?” Jane said. She frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. Darcy’s schedule in Forks was fairly light; they didn’t have that much work to do, especially if they wrapped up the Sophie case soon. “I miss you!” Darcy told her.

“Me, too. It’s so quiet here with just Loki and Thor. I know that sounds unbelievable, but it’s true. Have you had any updates from Phil? I got your care package this morning. I love my necklace! How much did overnighting it cost anyway? Overnighting is so expensive,” Jane said. She was wearing the little star, Darcy saw happily.

“You’re stuck in your Broke-Ass Scientist mindset, Janey. I used the money from Phil, it’s the least he could do for us after New Mexico,” Darcy said.

“Jack booted thugs,” Jane muttered. “I’m sending you something back. There are surprises in there, too.”

“Have you been on a Science! Bender?” Darcy asked Jane. “You look like you haven’t slept.” Jane had ink on her nose, her hair was slightly mussed, and she had dark shadows under her eyes.

“I’ve just been working on that wormhole thing,” Jane said excitedly. She was explaining about the wormhole when Brock started to snore again. “What is that sound?” Jane said.

“That’s Brock snoring,” Darcy said. “I’ve got a sheet over him.” Jane laughed.

“It’s fine,” Jane said, “you know how Asgardians are. I’ve seen more naked warriors than the Queen of Sparta.” Darcy laughed, too, but then went serious.

“You have to eat and sleep,” Darcy scolded. “It does me no good to hide out here if I come back and you’re all blinded by Science!, okay? Your body is not just vehicle for your genius brain. It needs nourishment and rest and whatnot,” she said.

“Fine. I’ll have a Pop Tart,” Jane said.

“Have two Pop-Tarts and a nap, please? At least an hour-long nap!” Darcy said sternly. She wagged her finger at the tablet. “I want progress in 3 to 5 hours. I will call back for a report and if you haven’t done it, I will yell very loudly for Thor.”

“Oh my God, stop, stop, I’ll eat and sleep,” Jane grumbled. “What’s new with you, besides the snoring guy in the bed?”

“I may have figured out my own PI case. Like Charlie’s Angels. Sorta,” Darcy admitted. “I had a confidential informant and everything.” Maeve counted, right?

“That is so cool,” Jane said. “I bet you’d make a great PI.”

“I know! I’m so nosy, it’s a natural fit,” Darcy said.

“People love talking to you,” Jane said, nodding. “I don’t know how you stand it. Strangers are always telling you about their brother’s foot surgery at the grocery store.”

 

When they’d hung up, Brock picked up his head from her back suddenly. “You got a confidential informant, huh?” he asked wryly.

“It might be a slight exaggeration,” Darcy said. “But I’m counting it.” He laughed and gently turned her over.

“Hey,” he said, looking at her intently.

“Hello,” she said to him. “You sleep well?” She was waiting for him to start pouting about her secrets again, but he surprised her.

“Like a dead guy. You want to fool around or are you waiting on a call from Charlie?” he asked.

“I could fool around,” she said, grinning. He leaned down and kissed her stomach. She tousled his hair playfully and he smiled slowly at her. It was that lazy grin again.

 

They were kissing--the man was an unhurried, erotic kisser--when he stopped and said something funny. “Your Kool-Aid hair is growing on me,” he told her.

“Honestly, I can’t wait to look like myself again,” she said. “I feel like it makes me more conspicuous.”

“Not so good if you want to meet with your confidential informants,” he teased. “You want to go with me to stakeout Sophie’s new boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Darcy said.

“Say that again,” he told her.

“Yes, baby,” she snarked playfully. He gave her one of those slow kisses again. She was leaning into it, feeling very beguiled, when he suddenly stood up. “Wait, where are you going?” she asked.

“I’m getting dressed,” he told her. “I’ll make coffee while you get ready.” He sat down on the side of the bed and started putting his boxers and pants on.

“We’re not having sex?” she asked, surprised.

“Nope,” he said.

“Rude,” she said to him. “I’m all worked up over here.”

“You’ll live,” he said wryly. He made it as far as the doorway when he turned. “You’ve got my shirt,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Darcy said sarcastically. She pulled it over her head and tossed it at him. He caught it and smiled.

“You know,” he said, once he had the shirt on and she was naked, “we could make a little time, if you want to tell me about your evening yesterday? Where you went?”

“Oh em gee, you’re ridiculous. Keep your pants on, then,” Darcy said, laughing. “I refuse to submit to your enhanced interrogation techniques,” she told him.

“Refuse, huh?” he said, rubbing his jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Long, Hot Summer reference is a total Easter Egg for my first Brock/Darcy story, As Is. I couldn't resist. 
> 
> Relevant movie clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWqqQxjoNwA&t=9s
> 
> *Also, in my AUs, Benedict Cumberbatch's Strange gets to keep his British accent because it is *bizarre* to pay for that wonderful voice and not rewrite Strange as a British-born expat currently living and working in NYC. Why didn't they? It would have been perfect for an arrogant surgeon.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's just something about a Brock/Darcy stakeout that is so funny to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos.

She came out of the bathroom in her sheep robe to find him making food. He’d left her coffee and cinnamon toast on the counter. “Whatcha doing?” Darcy asked. She bit a crunchy toast corner. It was very good.

“Making us lunch for work,” Brock said.

“Oh em gee, you’re packing me a lunch?” Darcy said. “That’s adorable.”

“I’m cute like that,” he said dryly. She stepped behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Mmmh,” Darcy murmured, snuggling her face between his shoulder blades. She slid her fingers underneath his shirt and caressed his abs, dragging her nails slightly through the dusting of dark hair peeking out above his jeans.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “you’re killing my focus.”

“Am I?” Darcy said with faux innocence.

“You know you are,” he said. She leaned up and kissed the back of his neck, then let him go.

“You’re stopping?” he said, once she had taken a few steps away.

“I wouldn’t want to mess with your focus,” she said, dropping the robe. “Besides I need to get dressed.” She knew he’d looked back when he swore under his breath.

 

Brock was very quiet on the stakeout near Sophie’s. Not petulant, exactly, just very still. His face was unreadable. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. You really couldn’t tell if he was just bored or he had no feelings whatsoever. Darcy wondered if it was a Hydra thing. Like, a technique they’d developed while undercover? Had he and Jack decided on what faces they’d use? She had to stifle a giggle as she imagined two grown men practicing their resting bitch faces for secret-Nazi-not-really duty. Jack, for example, had a truly frightening resting face. He looked practically rabid (ironic, her brain supplied, wasn’t rabies not a thing in Australia?) whenever he went silent. It was only when he spoke and smiled that the scary expression fell away, replaced by a pleasantly handsome look. Jane had freaked out a little because Tony had shared Rumlow’s file with her and included photos of both of them during the whole Steve-Bucky-DC deal. Darcy guessed Jack looked scary as fuck or something? Apparently, the photos had worried Jane, especially ones of them holding guns to Steve’s head. She had very quietly asked Darcy on the tablet if she felt comfortable and safe with both of them while Brock snored. It was funny: non-Hydra Jack was one of those people who talked with his hands, grinned, and said things were “bonzer.”

“I’m totally safe, Janey,” she’d said to Jane’s worried face on the screen that morning. “I promise you. I know the expression you mean, but Jack’s actually hilariously nonthreatening. He wears turquoise rings and he’s very smitten with an art dealer named Roger for God’s sake. He’d probably yak your ears off about ocean conservation or Impressionism or something? Surfing? What was the name of that store outside Santa Fe where I spent way too much money on turquoise jewelry that time? He’d probably love that place. I should tell him about it.”

 

Jane had groaned--Darcy’s compulsive jewelry-buying habit perplexed her--and told her to focus on staying safe. “Fine,” Darcy had told her, “but I maintain that jewelry is better than clothes because it’s more durable and if you size your rings right, they still fit when you feel fat. And earrings and necklaces always fit. Tell that to the blouses I can’t wear comfortably during PMS bloat, Jane.”

“I miss you, you weirdo,” Jane had said fondly. “I’ll talk to your clothes.”

“And my fish! Don’t forget him, okay?” Darcy had told her. “He loves when you talk to him.”

“Thor sits with him for a half an hour everyday at least,” Jane had said, laughing.

 

“What’s on your mind?” Brock asked her suddenly, drawing her attention back to where she was. Stakeout. Sophie. Ford Taurus. Weirdly stoic ex-SHIELDRA guy. The word guy got stuck and flagged in Darcy’s mental narrative. Not boyfriend. Definitely not that. Lover sounded ridiculous. What would she call him? It wasn’t exactly a friends-with-benefits scenario, either. They hadn’t really become friends yet. Hookup? That seemed better.

“Something Jane said to me during our talk today,” Darcy said to her current hookup person. “It was funny.”

“Yeah?” he said. He sounded not at all interested. Hmm. Wasn’t that _interesting_ , Darcy thought. He was trying to be cool, she guessed. Why, though? It was so weird. She studied him out of the corner of her eye.  Even his shoulders looked a little tense to her. Huh.

They were on hour two of cheating husband watch in the truck and it was far too early to eat when she finally decided to break the weirdness. “Why do you need to know where I was so badly?” she asked. She was curious.  It was such an odd thing to focus on.

“No real reason,” he said, shrugging fluidly.

“Yeah,” Darcy said, not believing that for a second. “You make really good cinnamon toast,” she told him, popping open the door of the truck.

“I use the broiler--wait, where are you going?” he said.

“I need to pee. I’m going to swing by the library,” she said.

“Oh,” he said.

“I’ll be back eventually,” she told him. She popped her earbuds in and listened to Dire Straits on the walk to the library. She was in a 1980s mood. She hummed the verses of “Romeo and Juliet” to herself on the sidewalk.

 

 ***

“How do you feel about Phil Collins?” she asked Brock when she got back in the truck, some fifteen minutes later.

“Phil Collins?” he said, looking at her with an incredulous expression.

“I really like “In The Air Tonight,” actually. Tony had this big _Miami Vice_ phase in his teens? He still doesn’t wear socks unless Pepper makes him. But he made me and Jane watch some episodes once and that’s when I realized I liked Phil Collins. It was that episode where Dakota Johnson’s dad has amnesia and thinks he’s a drug cartel assassin and has that little ponytail? Did you ever see that one?” Darcy asked him.

“What?” Brock said.

“Tony says the episode where his wife gets shot was legitimately moving, formative experience for him, but I’ve never seen it,” Darcy said. “Sheena Easton played her. Oh, we can leave, Sophie and the husband aren’t here.” At Brock’s look, she grinned in amusement. “The librarian told me--she lives in that yellow house across the street. Sophie and the husband are in Port Angeles today. They’re staying overnight. She gave me the name of the hotel. Sophie asked her to walk her dog,” Darcy said. “She’s a little miffed. She likes the dog, but Sophie only calls her when she wants something and it hurts her feelings.”

“Okay,” Brock said. He sat there for a minute, just staring out the windshield at Sophie’s house.

“Did you want to make the drive to Port Angeles now?” Darcy prompted.

“Yeah,” he said. He cranked the truck and shifted the transmission.

 

They were headed out of town when he said something to her. “Don Johnson,” he said finally. “Don Johnson is a big star, okay? He’s not just the _Fifty Shades_ girl’s dad. Jesus. He was a big deal.”

“I guess I’m too young to remember that,” Darcy said teasingly. “I do like Timothy Dalton as James Bond though. Oh em gee, he was my mom’s favorite, so we watched his Bonds a zillion times when I was little. So hot.” She sighed happily.

“The one where the shark dismembers people?” Brock asked her, sounding horrified.

“Uh-huh and the cellist one. You ever see _The Lady Eve_ with Henry Fonda and Barbara Stanwyck?” she asked him.

“No,” he said.

“It’s very good. Anyway, Stanwyck has this whole speech about her “ideal”--what he looks like, what he sounds like--and sometimes I think Timothy Dalton is that for me. He has this thing, you know? I can’t watch the newest Bonds. They’re so boring now. Daniel Craig is just...dreary? You can tell he thinks he’s really suffering for his art,” Darcy said. “Oh, poor me, I’m so burdened by being exorbitantly paid to play a world famous character, how ever shall I live?”

“You mother let you watch James Bond movies when you were a child?” he asked. She laughed.

“She used to take me to movies when I was so little I didn’t weigh enough to hold down the seat. I had to sit in her lap,” Darcy said. “Hey, speaking of weird blonde men, I’ve always wanted to ask you: what was Alexander Pierce actually like?”

“Jesus Christ, Darcy,” Brock said. “You don’t just _ask_ that.”

“No?” she asked. “It’s like those words you know never hear out loud when you’re little.”

“What words?” he said. “Like fuck?”

“Well, no, more like _debauched_ ,” she said. “You know? You see them in old books, but nobody ever says them out loud, so they exist in this weird space where you’re not sure if they’re polite or not? You know fuck isn’t polite, because you hear it some places, but not others. When and where you can say someone is fucked is very clear, debauched is not. Debauched is actually worse than fucked, in terms of insults, probably.” She looked over. He was frowning.

“How did we get here?” he asked.

“Alexander Pierce?” she said again. He huffed out a sigh.

“Too complicated,” he said. “It’s not something I want to talk about. What’s the name of the hotel in Port Angeles?”

“The Seaport?” she said. “I even have the room number from the librarian. You won’t have to bribe the desk clerk.”

“Good,” he said in a relieved voice. He frowned again. “I don’t bribe the desk clerks.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Exterior room entrances,” he told her. “We just sit and wait.”

“You should stop saying that. It’s kind of a jinx,” she told him. “You said it with Darlene in the woods and you see how that worked out.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But I didn’t mind that.” He gave her a brief grin.

“You mean you’ve never bribed a desk clerk? I always wanted to do that,” Darcy asked.

“You watch too much television,” he said.

“Oh, c’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t know how to covertly slip someone bills?” she said. “It looks fun.”

 

She turned out to be right about the jinx, though. They sat outside the hotel all afternoon. Sometime after lunch, Darcy fell asleep again. She woke up on his shoulder. It had started to rain. Darcy shook her head and wiped the drool off her chin. “Didya get the photos yet?” she asked, yawning.

“Nope,” he said. “They’re still inside.” They could see the Taurus parked across the lot. He shifted his arm so she would be closer to him. “C’mere,” he said. She snuggled in and he kissed her forehead lightly.

“Are you over your weird mood yet?” she asked.

“I’m not in a weird mood,” he said.

“No?” she said. “Because you seem a little bent out of shape to me?”

“You left,” he said suddenly. “Just walked out. Didn’t tell me where you’d gone. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

“And that bothers you?” Darcy asked.

“Women do not usually do that with me,” he said.

“Ah,” Darcy said. “So you were expecting me to be hanging on your every word?”

“No, no, not--I just,” he said. “Usually, it’s a little more, uh, impactful when I cook for someone.”

“Ooooh,” she said, realization dawning, “you were trying to impress me!” He groaned.

“Don’t,” he said.

“But I was impressed,” Darcy reminded him. “I told you that you were a very good cook and we’ve already had sex? I don’t get it.”

“The disappearing and the bleeding guy in the cape was a mood killer,” he said.

“But you should be used to that, right? I assumed you’d seen plenty of weird shit with SHIELD?” she asked.

“That was work. Work didn’t seep into my dates,” he said.

“You kept them separate?” Darcy said. She was curious about how he’d managed that one. Probably brief relationships, she thought. A lot of wham, bam, and thank you, ma’am?

“Yeah,” he said. “Why are you smiling?”

“You wanted me to be all swept off my feet!” Darcy said. “You really wanted me to swoon, didn’t you?”

“No, I just--look, it’s what I’m used to,” he said, shrugging again.

“Oh em gee, you are a lot, you know that?” she said.

“I’m a lot? I’m a lot? You’re a lot,” he said back. “I can’t even follow you half the time, going on about Phil Collins and James Bond and, fuck, where do you get your information? How do you find this shit out?” he said, raking his free hand through his hair.

“People tell me things,” she said.

“They tell you things?” he said, sounding skeptical. “Why?”

“Maybe it’s my pretty face? Can’t you imagine wanting to tell me things?” she said flirtatiously. “Really, really wanting to tell me things?” She traced the line of his shirt collar with her fingers.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning slowly.

“That’s not really what’s bothering you, though,” she said. “What is it?”

“Shh,” he said, kissing her. “I’m done talking.”

 

They almost missed the couple emerging from the hotel room, but Darcy had one eye looking over his shoulder as he kissed her neck. “Hey, adulterer alert!” she said, ruffling his hair a little.

“Shit, shit,” he muttered, smacking his shoulder as he grabbed the camera in the floorboard. It had slid down while they were making out.

“You okay?” she said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Walk this way, asshole. C’mon, walk this way,” he said out loud. “There you are,” he said. Darcy heard the rhythmic _click click click_ of the camera. “Got you,” he said, as they stood, kissing, in the lot. Still, he took several more of them getting into the car. Then he cranked the truck.

“What are we doing now?” Darcy asked.

“Seeing where they go,” he said. “On TV, this would be a car chase. Put your seatbelt back on.”

“Oh yay, I’ve always wanted to be in a car chase,” she said, buckling herself into the middle seat. She didn’t particularly want to move away from him. He smelled so nice, even if he did have a very high opinion of himself. She suppressed a grin.

“What?” he said.

“You smell good,” she told him, nuzzling slightly.

“Oh,” he said, sounding mollified.

 

The adulterers went to a seafood restaurant. “Of course, this is where they go,” he said.

“Why? Is there an adultery and seafood rule?” she asked. “Like fish on Fridays? ”

“No, it’s just romantic,” he scoffed. “They probably think they’re wildly in love and this is a grand affair.”

“I bet that is a nice view,” Darcy admitted. The restaurant faced the harbor. “Why don’t we go in, get inside photos?” she asked. “Hey, did you know the Filet-O-Fish sandwich was invented by a McDonald’s franchisee who was from a heavily Catholic area of Cleveland? He noticed he couldn’t move hamburgers on Fridays.” Brock gave her a look that involved a raised eyebrow.

“What? I heard it on NPR,” she said. "Erik Selvig loves public radio."

“We could expense the meal,” he admitted, tucking his camera inside his jacket. “You hungry?”

“Yeah. Are you going to use that?” she asked. “A phone would be easier.”

“How so?” he asked.

“Have you really never taken restaurant selfies?” Darcy asked him.

“Sweetheart, I cannot say I have ever taken a selfie of any kind,” he said.

 

They were walking into the restaurant when a thought occurred to her. “No gym selfies?” she asked. He looked at her flatly. “Ah ha!” she crowed.

“Just to document my progress, not for anybody,” he said, as they were greeted and led to a table. “Can we take that one out on the deck?” he asked the hostess. It had a better ocean view--and was nearer their couple.

“Of course,” the hostess said fluidly. They followed her outside. Darcy was glad she had a jacket; there was a breeze off the water.“Would you like a wine list?” she ask them. Darcy nodded; it seemed more unusual not to ask for one.

“Doesn’t the ocean just sound fantastic, babe?” Darcy asked Brock, rubbing his arm. “I could so move here. Rosé all day.” He tilted his head at her speculatively. She was making sure to be a little bit loud and obnoxious. She scooted her chair--it was one of those plastic outdoor ones--as close to him as possible. Noisily. “Let’s take pictures for the Instaaaaaa,” she trilled, pulling out her phone. She snapped a few. She made sure that their marks were clearly in the background of every shot. Sophie and the married guy were holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes. They did, in fact, look wildly in love. Married guy gave Sophie a gentle kiss. “Why don’t you ever smile in my pictures?” she pouted dramatically. “I really want Lauren to be jelly, look happy, babe,” Darcy told Brock.

“Who the fuck is Lauren?” Brock asked under his breath, as he fake smiled for the camera.

“A popular name. Everybody knows at least one. Like a Jennifer,” Darcy whispered. “Or a Steve.”

“Yeah,” Brock, snaking his arm through the chair to squeeze her waist. “Just how many Steves do you know?” he asked in a low voice. His breath was warm against her ear.

“Oh my God,” Darcy said, “are we really fighting about my ex on our vacation, babe?” She made sure to raise her voice a little. “Again?” she said.

“Oh, so he’s your ex now? ‘Cause I thought he was just a _friend_ , that’s what you’re always saying,” Brock said, playing along.  He’d done a funny thing with his body language and his face--she couldn’t quite figure out how--but he radiated obnoxiousness and a kind of arrogant, pushy energy. All of a sudden, he’d gone from casual tourist to ‘uh-oh, it’s that schmuck who wears gold rings and starts fights in public.’ Darcy found it weirdly fascinating. He was even sitting in a way that took up more space.

“He is my friend, okay? I can have friends,” Darcy said. “I don’t see you not talking to Gina.”

“I cannot fucking believe you,” he said loudly. “We have a kid, I have to talk to Gina.” They mock bickered until the waiter got there. Other patrons were avoiding eye contact. No one would notice that they’d taken a bunch of selfies that included Sophie and Married Guy first.

“I need wine,” Darcy told the waiter. “Pink wine. Whatever white zinfandel you have. I don’t care.”

“Classy. Drinking again?” Brock said. He was using something Darcy’s mom would have called _a tone._

“It’s not like you let me drive your car!” Darcy told him. “His precious BMW,” she told the waiter, “that he loves more than anyone. It’s not even new or anything.” She made sure to stress the word new. There was one parked across the street outside. One of the sportier ones. Darcy had noticed because it was painted a bright yellow.

“It’s an M3, okay. M-3,” Brock said slowly, as if she was particularly dumb and they’d had this argument a million times. “It doesn’t need to be new, it’s a classic. You’d understand that if you knew anything about cars. You can’t even change your own oil. You took your car to somebody.” The waiter practically backed away at the sound of his voice.

“I don’t see you rushing out to do it for me,” Darcy snapped back. “I asked you and I asked you. You said you’d get to it. My light was on for two weeks!”

“I’m sure that was so harmful to your little six year old Civic, babe,” he said condescendingly. “Did you need more performance to speed your way to the mall with my Amex? Buy more purses?”

“We call them handbags in this century,” Darcy said. Loudly. He pretended to grind his jaw in a pissed off way.

“Can you not lower your voice? You never can resist making a spectacle of yourself,” Brock said scoldingly. “Everywhere we go, you embarrass me.” The waiter came back again, silently deposited her wine and his water, and gave Darcy a sad look.

“That’s funny, I didn’t see any embarrassment when you were bragging to your buddies that I was so much younger than you!” Darcy said, when the waiter had taken a few steps away from the table, but was still close enough to hear. “Or talking about my tits.”

“Who paid for ‘em?” Brock asked sharply, a mischievous glint in his eye. Darcy almost lost it then. She clapped her hand over her mouth and pretended to be overcome by his awfulness as a boyfriend. “Baby, where you going?” Brock called, as she bolted to the nearest ladies’ room.

 

Darcy locked herself inside--thankfully, it was a family-style bathroom--and shook with laughter. She laughed so hard, she actually cried. A few minutes later, there was a knock. “Baby, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay, open the door,” Brock said. When she opened it--she had raccoon eyes, she saw in the mirror--he mouthed ‘you okay?’ and she nodded. He started again in that fake voice. “Baby, c’mon, let’s not ruin dinner, okay?” he said.

“You think I’m the one who ruined dinner?” Darcy said loudly. “Me?”

“Can we not do this now?” he yelled back. She pulled him into the bathroom

“I can’t believe you’re fucking accusing me of ruining dinner,” Darcy said loudly. They could probably hear her outside. The door was barely closed. She kissed him and ran her fingers through his hair. When he broke the kiss, he looked at her heatedly.

“We doing this here?” he asked quietly, shutting the door.

“Nuh-huh,” Darcy whispered, grinning. “I don’t particularly want to be arrested for indecency.”

“I bribed them already,” he said, rubbing his thumb over her mouth.

“Nope,” Darcy said, “I’m not putting my bare ass on a strange sink, either. Let’s finish our fight out there.”

 

They half-bickered on their way back to the table--he pretended to be cajoling and apologetic while she feigned being wounded at his cruelty. He kept trying to kiss her while she turned her head away. “I ordered you crabcakes, baby, you know you love crabcakes,” he told her, when they’d sat back down. “Extra french fries.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, pretending to sniffle. She’d left traces of her ruined mascara. She thought she looked slightly like those televangelist women who were always crying on their husband’s shows.

“Come sit in my lap, baby,” he said coaxingly. “It’ll be okay.” When she climbed into his lap, he kissed her. It was wildly difficult for Darcy not to giggle as people looked horrified by them making out at the table. Even their supposed surveillance targets looked a little put off by their antics.

“Should we be more subtle?” she whispered in his ear, nuzzling his neck. He was totally palming her ass. Undercover Brock was Mr. PDA.

“No, don’t say that,” he said heatedly. “I fucking need you so much, baby.” The couple next to them was eyeing them dubiously, like they were a grenade or Chekhov’s gun.

“I don’t like it when we fight,” Darcy whined.

“We won’t fight, okay?” he said. “Look, here’s your french fries. I’ll get you more wine.” He was obnoxiously affectionate and touchy-feely for the rest of their meal. He even kissed more noisily. “Why don’t we get dessert to go, baby?” he said, when she’d finished some of her fries. He mouthed “wrapping up” and slid his eyes over to Sophie’s table. Darcy got the hint.

“I’d like that,” she said, biting her lip to suppress a grin and staring poutily at him.

“You want extra whipped cream?” he asked, leering. “We could have some fun tonight?” Darcy leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“You have to stop. I can’t keep a straight face,” she said. “Also, suppressing laughter makes me have to pee.”

  
***

“Oh my God,” Darcy shrieked, once they were back in the truck, waiting for their targets to emerge. “How much did you bribe the manager not to kick us out?”

“I gave the guy an extra $50 and told him you were crazy,” he said.

“Hey!” Darcy said. “Rude.”

“I might’ve said crazy hot, too,” he said. “Great in bed.”

“That’s a sexist remark,” Darcy told him. She opened one of her to-go boxes. She taken home her extra fries, too. The Lewis family motto was basically “leave no potato behind.”

“Saying you’re sexy?” he said, sounding astounded.

“No, deploying the crazy women are wild in bed trope,” Darcy said.

“It worked,” he said, stealing one of her french fries. He’d been doing that, she noticed. He’d gotten some boring fish with steamed vegetables, but he was a damn fry thief. She found it oddly endearing. Almost as soon as she had the thought, she wondered if she should squash it. Should you find your hookup’s fry thievery charming? What was the etiquette for that? “You got any ketchup?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said, handing him a fistful of packets. “You squeeze. I always make a mess. How long before they leave?”

“They ordered some sort of chocolate soufflé thing, but I have no idea if it’s a real one and will take thirty minutes or if it came frozen off a truck,” he said. Darcy scrutinized her crinkle-cut fries.

“Off a truck,” she decided. “They won’t be thirty minutes unless they drink more and stare at each other for a really long time.”

“They could. I did this one case where the couple stayed at a restaurant for an hour and a half after closing,” he said. He chuckled.

 

Their jinx appeared to be active. Sophie and the husband stayed inside the restaurant. Thirty more minutes went by. Then forty. Fifty. Brock finished all her french fries and got grumpy. “Where the hell are they?” he muttered.

“Maybe they’re walking on the harbor?” she suggested. “They could have left from the deck and gone for a walk?” The restaurant’s desks were connected to walkways that ran along the harbor line.

“Yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“You want some of this cheesecake?” she asked.

“I don’t eat cheesecake,” he said.

“Are you lactose intolerant or just the Devil?” she asked. She poked his arm. “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

“Lots of people don’t eat cheesecake,” he said defensively.

“That’s what the Santa Muerte tattoo is from, isn’t it? It’s the mark of someone who doesn’t eat cheesecake,” Darcy said. “A warning of your future demise at an advanced age because you didn’t indulge enough and you lived too long. You’ll be a hundred and twenty and utterly regretting this moment.”

“I just don’t love it, okay? It’s too rich,” he said. He rubbed his jaw.

“I feel a deep and sincere sadness for you, baby,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said. “You’re eating that whole piece?”

“Somebody ate my extra fries, I’ve got room,” she said. “Don’t you be judging.”

“Sorry,” he said.

“Phhft,” she said sticking out her tongue. “You’re very touchy feely when you pretend to be obnoxious,” she noted, licking her plastic spork. The cheesecake was very good. Lemon raspberry. They’d given her extra raspberry sauce. It was pity sauce, Darcy knew. The waiter had said something sympathetic to her when Brock went to the bathroom. For a moment, she’d been afraid he would offer to, like, help her escape her terrible boyfriend? Awkward, but really nice of him, she thought.

“Method acting,” he said dryly. “It felt right for the character.”

“So, when you and Jack work cases, does he sit your lap, too?” Darcy teased. Brock snorted.

“We can’t use that particular scenario,” he said.

“Why not?” Darcy said, dipping her spork into the raspberry sauce and scooping up a little cheesecake. She spooned it into her mouth and looked at him.

“Jack can never keep a straight face if I call him baby,” Brock said. Darcy laughed so hard that she started to cry again. She was wiping tears from her eyes when the couple emerged from the restaurant, hand in hand. “Thank fuck,” Brock muttered, snapping a few more photos. They got into the Taurus.

“Do we have enough to go home now?” Darcy asked, making little designs in her raspberry sauce with the spork.

“Let’s get a few more of them at the hotel, if that’s where they’re going,” he said. He waited a small amount of time and then tailed them back to the hotel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In interviews for the 300 sequel, Callan Mulvey wears several cool rings and gestures with his hands a lot, so I worked that in as a not-Hydra Jack detail, because he looks SO different from CA: TWS: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GtOlDK_aLJs


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisses with Dreams In Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and support!

They got another round of incriminating photographs. “Why does this matter anyway?” Darcy asked, as they sat in the motel parking lot. Brock was putting his camera away.

“The client was smart enough to ask for a ‘bad boy’ clause in her and the husband’s prenup,” Brock told her. “It means she gets more money in the divorce than she would if he’d behaved himself.”

“Ford Taurus guy has a prenup?” Darcy said, mildly shocked.

“Family money,” Brock supplied. “Trust fund. Family owns some of the major spearmint farms.”

“Spearmint?” Darcy said.

“Washington grows the nation’s mint, sweetheart. Number one state for peppermint and spearmint. The car is actually his company car, too, so the wife could potentially turn him into his boss for misuse of company resources. Not that I’d recommend it,” he said.

“Why not?” Darcy asked.

“You start threatening people’s jobs or their children, sometimes they get desperate. Things can get messy,” Brock said. “Scorched earth is a risk. Better to leverage the prenup clause for a slightly better payout and just move on.”

“Define messy for me,” Darcy said, curious.

“We had a wife show up at our client’s office and wave a gun around once,” Brock said, sighing. “He was okay, though. Nobody got hurt. The client was pushing her too hard on custody. You have to be careful about how you handle things in a divorce.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Is that something you have to warn people about often?” Darcy really wanted to ask him about his own divorce but if he didn’t want to talk about Alexander Pierce, for sure he didn’t want to talk about splitting from his wife, right? It was better to ask about office protocols, probably. She hadn’t sat in on any local client meetings yet and they’d taken their new work by phone, so she’d missed a lot of information.

“It’s just good practice,” he said, shrugging. He cranked the truck and they left the parking lot. Darcy had assumed they would go back to Forks, but he surprised her by making a stop at a grocery store then driving back past the hotel, and pulling into the parking lot of another hotel. It was next door to the one they’d been surveilling.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“We’re checking into a hotel room with a view of our cheaters,” he said wryly. “One that doesn’t have exterior corridor room doors. Never stay in hotels with those,” he told her. “They’re very unsafe, sweetheart.”

“Are you giving me safety tips?” Darcy asked, amused. She knew that, of course. She’d probably known that since she was eleven. Long before she was old enough to stay in a hotel.

“Yeah,” he said, looking at her blankly.

“You’re giving the daughter of a female deputy hotel safety tips?” she said. “Do you know how many self-defense classes I’ve attended? All the seminars on women’s safety that my mom dragged me to?” He grinned.

“I forgot,” he said.

“You probably don’t even know the stats for drug trafficking at those kinds of hotels,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes as she climbed out of the passenger seat.

“No,” he said. He went around the back of the truck and pulled out two bags. She could hear the clink of whatever he’d picked up at the grocery store. “But you do?” he said, smiling.

“In detail,” Darcy said, sighing. She repeated the instructions she’d heard again and again. “Be careful in the parking lot. Have them write down your room number, not say it out loud at check-in. You’re safer from theft in rooms farther from elevators and stairwells. Thieves go for rooms where they can get away quickly. Check for CO2 detectors, sprinklers, exit routes, and working locks when you first go into the room. Keep your ID and other important items in one bag in the room when you’re inside, so you can grab them in case you need to leave quickly. In a high rise hotel, choose a room above the ground floor for theft safety, but not higher than the fifth in case you need to use the stairwell in a fire or other emergency,” she said in a slightly exaggerated flight attendant voice.

“Yeah?” he said, chuckling. “So, we’re in danger now?” They were walking across the parking lot.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. He surprised her by putting his arm around her. “What?” she said.

“I’m keeping you close,” he said. “Just for my own protection.”

 

***

Once they’d checked in and gotten to their room, Darcy regaled him with more safety seminar stories. “There was a lot of focus on eyes and groins, baby,” she said. “Kick them in the nuts or poke their eyeballs out.”  He laughed.

“I’m getting ice. There’s booze in that bag,” he said. She unzipped it and realized he’d bought a bottle of champagne. When he returned, she looked at him.

“You got champagne?” she said. He took the bottle from her and stuck it in the ice bucket.

“It’s cheap champagne,” he said, shrugging. He left the ice bucket on the dresser and disappeared into the bathroom. She unzipped the other bag. He’d packed clothes and things for both of them.

“You planned this,” she said. “This wasn’t a spur of the moment decision.”

“I thought we might need to check into a hotel at some point, so I made a go bag and put it in the truck. You feel like a bath?” he said suddenly, leaning against the door frame. “I feel like one.”

“You want to take a bath with me?” Darcy said. It sounded really….romantic? He took baths? Darcy’s imagination had not accounted for ex-SHIELD agents in the bathtub. Holy crap, that was weirdly attractive. And there was champagne? This was so crazy.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Okay,” she said. He disappeared back into the bathroom and Darcy heard the water running. She went over to the window. “How did you know we’d have this view?” she asked. Their room overlooked the wing of the motel where Sophie and the Husband were staying.

“Research,” he called out. “I looked it up while you were asleep in the truck. C’mere,” he said, appearing again and beckoning her away from the window

“What?” she said.

“I’m undressing you,” he said. “Water’s warm.”

“Oh em gee, you cannot just say that, I’ll die of lust,” she told him. He grinned as he unzipped her jacket. He was still smiling when he climbed into the tub behind her with little plastic cups of champagne and rubbed the back of her neck. Dusting kisses along her shoulders, he pulled her close.

“You wanna hand me that soap?” he asked.

“You’re washing me now?” Darcy said. She felt acutely conscious of how intimate they were in the water--his legs bracketing the outside of her thighs, the press of his erection against her, the callouses on his hands as he touched her.

“Careful, attentive foreplay, sweetheart,” he said in her ear. His stubble was slightly scratchy. “I’ll even shampoo your hair if you want me to,” he said, sloshing a little water on her chest.

“Definitely dying of lust,” she said, sipping champagne as he ran the bar of soap over her breasts. The soap smelled green and musky. It reminded her of the Olympic National Park in the rain. A rainforest themed soap in a Port Angeles hotel, she thought. She sighed. “What even is my life?” she said out loud. The soap bar on her shoulder stilled.

“What’s that mean?” he asked quietly.

“Like, a week and a half ago, I was in New York, doing the same thing I’ve been doing for years. Make coffee, force Jane to sleep, force Jane to eat. Rinse, repeat. Now, all of a sudden I live in _Twilight_ town? Today, I went on a stakeout. Also--this is the most surreal part for me, I want you to know--I’m going to have hotel sex with the world’s hottest undead SHIELD agent,” she said. He chuckled.

“I’m glad I outrank Phil and Jack,” he said.

“I can’t believe you planned this. How did you know that cheap champagne is my favorite champagne?” Darcy asked quizzically. She hated the dry champagne Tony served at fancy shindigs. Why was expensive food and drink so abrasive, she wondered? Dry champagne, scotch, caviar, the not-good-kind of truffles, slimy oysters. Blech. Was it an uptight WASP country club people thing?

“I dunno,” he said, “the bottle looked girly? It was either this one or some bubbly fucking rosé, sweetheart. I didn’t even know they made champagne in pink.”

“They do! It’s great. Didn’t you ever see _An Affair to Remember_ with Cary Grant? His love interest says pink champagne is her favorite and it’s like sixty years old,” Darcy told him.

“Yeah,” he said wryly, cupping her breast and washing underneath it. “In Hydra, we spent a lot of time assessing the films of Cary goddamn Grant. In between starting wars and brainwashing, Alexander Pierce ran a book club and a film appreciation society.” He pinched her nipple slightly and she squeezed her thighs together automatically in response.

“Jesus, that feels good,” she told him. She turned to kiss him, but the tub was slightly confining. And slippery. “I think we need to migrate,” she said.

“Migrate?” he asked.

“To the bed,” she said. “Bathtubs aren’t actually all that sex-friendly, are they? Is it the water or is it the soap?” She scrunched her nose thoughtfully. He grinned at her. “What?” she said.

“I’m adding hot tubs and oceans to my mental list of places you haven’t had sex yet,” he said.

“I feel like that’s kind of germy,” Darcy said. “I mean, what’s in the ocean? And guys with hot tubs always seem like pervs, unless they’re, like, from Scandinavia? Norwegian hot tubs were totally non-sexual. It’s the sauna culture.”

“Where do you come up with this shit?” he asked. Darcy thought he sounded more amused than exasperated. Like she was a puppy playing with his shoelaces and he wanted to pet her and call her “a little pain in his ass” in a fond tone.

“I feel very confident in those opinions,” she said, rubbing his arm. “Help me out of here. Please?”

“Sure,” he said. “What?” he asked her a few minutes later. He was drying her off with one of the hotel towels. Attentively. Long, slow caressing movements with the towel.

“I’m feeling slightly swoony,” she said.

“This did it, huh?” Brock asked.

“It’s some combination of the way you’re doing that, champagne, and how amazing you look naked,” she admitted. He barked out a sharp laugh.

“Just wait, baby,” he said, running the towel between her thighs. She leaned over and kissed him. “Impatient,” he said teasingly.  Once he’d dried her off, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Darcy couldn’t help but laugh. “You think this is funny?” he said wryly.

“I’m processing all the romantic swoon and it’s giving me the church giggles. Nobody’s ever taken a bath with me or carried me to a bed before,” she told him, still giggling a little. It was impossible to take herself seriously as the object of his affection. Shouldn’t he be with some terrifying and magnetic Angelina Jolie lookalike, not Jane Foster’s slightly goofy lab assistant? Or maybe a Michelle Pfeiffer lookalike? She had no idea if his ex was a brunette or a blonde. Would Jack tell her? Probably, Darcy thought. She might be a little tipsy, too. Or giddy. It was difficult to tell. He gave her a flat look as he deposited her on the bed.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“You’re very gentle, though,” she said. She half sat up and grinned at him. “What are we doing tonight?” she asked.

“I’m getting you another drink,” he said, walking back into the bathroom to retrieve her plastic cup. She eyed him appreciatively when his back was turned. God, he was gorgeous. Just perfect looking. Could you describe a man as luscious, she wondered? She was still watching him when he emerged from the bathroom. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, frowning.

“I was drooling over how gorgeous you are,” she told him. “Was my tongue hanging out or something?” she asked.

“You looked lost in thought,” he said, filling the little cup with champagne. He brought it to her and told her to scoot over. She wiggled to the middle of the bed and he got in next to her. Brock started at her shoulder, planting kisses on her shoulder and working down her arm. He climbed on top of her, grounding his knees on either side of her calves, and started kissing the side of her torso gently.

“Oh em gee, are you actually giving me sideboob kisses?” she said, laughing. She leaned over and put her cup on the nightstand. She wanted to rub his shoulders. She kneaded either side of his neck as he scattered kisses over her rib cage.

“That feels great, sweetheart,” he said, looking up at her with an unfathomable expression. “So good,” he said, tipping his head back down and nuzzling her softly. He was very thorough. Darcy relaxed into the sensation and let her brain wander.

“John Garfield,” Darcy said abruptly. Several minutes had elapsed. He was kissing her belly button. Very obligingly, she registered, as he circled it with his tongue. “That’s who you remind me of, John Garfield,” she said.

“The cat?” he said incredulously. He’d frozen.

“No, no, the guy who was in _The Postman Always Rings Twice_ with Lana Turner. He was a boxer from the Bronx first, before he started acting,” she said. “Sort of Marlon Brando before Marlon Brando.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing his arms over her belly and leaning his chin on her stomach. “Is there a reason you thought of that right now?”

“No reason,” Darcy said. Actually, she’d been thinking that it was lucky she hadn’t married Ian; one look at Brock Rumlow would have melted her panties and turned her into a husband murderess like Lana in that _Postman_ movie. But what was it Lana Turner’s character had said about her lover’s kisses being “kisses with dreams in them”? It was a random thought, even for her. What was happening in her brain? Also, she was fairly sure that Brock wouldn’t have killed Ian for her. Not couldn’t, just wouldn’t. 

“Sure,” he said, wryly. He gave her a panty melting look of amusement right at that moment, then returned his attention to her body. Was it possible for someone to get more attractive, the longer you knew them? She’d adjusted herself to the opposite--fangirling over Captain America or the Black Widow and them gradually becoming normal Steve and Natasha. Their good looks sort of receded. Steve was just sweet and adorably old-fashioned, while Nat taught you where to find the best vodka and tried to set you up with people. Normal people stuff.

The man in her hotel room seemed to be performing the opposite trick: every angle of his face, each glimpse of his body, every touch, each time they had sex, seemed to amplify his handsomeness and charisma. The more she looked at him, the more unreal it all seemed, like a movie. A movie that felt freaking incredible, she registered, as a shiver of pleasure ran through her body. “What are you thinking about?” Brock said suddenly, derailing the crazy train in her head.

“Um, uh,” Darcy stuttered. She did not want him to know the effect he was having on her; he might be smug about it. She went back to her next-to-last thoughts. “If this was _The Postman Always Rings Twice_ and I’d showed up in Forks married to Ian, do you think we would have had an affair like Lana Turner and John Garfield’s characters?” she asked him. It was the first thing she could think of to say.

“You’re asking me if I would have slept with you if I’d known you were married?” he asked, sounding cynical. “To that British guy?”

“Yes?” Darcy said. Her voice had done a vocal fry thing. “I’m mean, theoretically, as a hypothetical scenario,” she continued in a more normal tone. He looked at her for a long moment. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. They were locked in a stare. God, she really wanted to know what he was thinking.

“Probably, yeah,” he said with a fluid shrug. He dipped his head between her thighs and ran his tongue over her.

“Oh my Godddddddd,” Darcy said, moaning. It felt incredible. He kept kissing and licking her. Her whole body felt boneless and relaxed, like she was melting slowly. Like butter left out on a countertop in summer. A slow, easy melting sensation. Would his thumbs leave dents in her skin, she wondered? Suddenly, he stopped. “Wha--?” Darcy said, lifting her head up in distress.

“You’re not still legally married to the British guy or something, are you?” he said.

“No, no!” Darcy said.

“You can tell me if you’re separated or whatever,” he said. “I won’t be upset.”

“No, never married to anyone, not even in Vegas for 48 hours,” she said.

“Good,” he said firmly. Too firmly, she thought.

“What happened to ‘I won’t be upset’?” Darcy said skeptically.

“I might be a little upset,” he admitted. He said it like a little boy who’d been busted in an obvious lie.

“Why, though?” she said. “Because I would have misled you or something?”

“I want you,” he said flatly.

“Uh-huh,” she said, confused. “And?”

“I would have been tempted to let things get messy if Phil had dropped you off with some sexually-inept British husband,” he said.

“What kind of messy?” she asked.

“The kind where he would have walked in on us fucking until he got the hint,” he said.

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“That bother you?” he said.

“I dunno,” she said.

“You don’t know?” he asked.

“Obviously, I’m not in love with my hypothetical British husband or I would have successfully resisted your sex mojo,” Darcy said. “Also, he’s imaginary.”

“You think I’d have given up? I don’t quit, sweetheart.” He chuckled. The chuckle turned into full laughter.

“What?” Darcy said.

“I’m imagining you saying, ‘I can’t have dinner with you, I’m married to _Ian’_ and about how long that would have lasted,” he said, smirking. “A week or two?”

“How could I have even been having dinner with you?” she asked. “Also, I’m calling it, I wouldn’t even cheat on a fictional husband. I have ethics and standards.”

“Oh, I would have sent Ian off with Jack,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Then I would have made you a very good, very hot arrabbiata, just to get your blood flowing, and asked you about the relationship.”

“You would have asked me about my fake marriage as a seduction technique?” she said, astounded. He propped his chin up with his hand, thinking. He started talking it out.

“I can see it: you’re sitting there, all flushed from the spicy sauce, nervous about being alone with me, but a little excited, too. I’ve spent all week just being so helpful and looking at you for just a beat too long, you know? Ian probably hasn’t noticed, but you noticed. We have a lovely dinner and you start to relax. You realize that I’m fun. How long has it been since you had fun? Everything’s awkward or boring between you and Ian now. You’ve got a sheen of sweat on your forehead, maybe some on your upper lip? I see it and offer you more wine. When you’re surprised that I noticed, it makes it easy,” he said.

“Easy?” Darcy said. “Easy to what?”

“To ask you if your husband actually sees you, sweetheart. That lets me tell you that I’ve noticed he neglects you, doesn’t respond to your jokes, never flirts with you. How is that possible?” he mused. “Especially with someone as funny and smart and beautiful as you?”

“You actually think that would have worked?” Darcy said.

“Could you say you wouldn’t have thought of me when you and Ian had unsatisfying sex? I would have been around constantly, helping you with little things. Standing half a step closer than most people, letting my eyes linger on parts of your body. Your lips,” he said, kissing her belly. “Your breasts, your thighs,” he said, planting a series of kisses on the inside of one thigh.”You would have started to wonder if you’d missed out.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said skeptically. “You would have wrecked me with spicy pasta and lingering glances?”

“Next, it would have been ‘I can’t kiss you again, I’m married,’” Brock said. He laid his head on her belly and ran a hand down her thigh. “Eventually, we’d really slip. The secrecy would make the sex more thrilling, though. Sneaking around in the woods. Maybe we’d almost get caught in the office kitchen. You’d try to stop, but I’d tell you that I didn’t want to and you’d know that I still wanted you whenever we made eye contact.”

“And then what?” Darcy said, half-amused, half-doubtful about his fictional scenario.

“I’d have asked you to leave him,” he said. “Maybe invented some pretext to get you to a hotel like this, so I could really work on convincing you.” He trailed his fingers over her knee.

“But we still would have had to deal with the fallout of breaking up my imaginary marriage,” she teased. “Imagine our guilt!” she said. He shrugged.

“I feel no social obligation to your imaginary husband,” he said. “If he’s not treating you well, who is to say you don’t deserve something better?”

“What if you’d been seeing someone seriously?” Darcy asked, curious. She didn’t want to ask what he would’ve done had he been still married.

“I’d never have been seeing anyone seriously in Forks,” he said.

“No?” Darcy said. “Not even in an alternative universe where Ian wants to marry me?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He grinned.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” he told her. He kissed her thigh. “Can I get back to this?” he asked in a wry voice.

“Yes. Please go back to our regularly scheduled programming,” she said. He snorted. “Oh, fuck,” she muttered, once he’d started again. He worked her over until she was all warm and wet and yearning. “Baby, baby,” she said. “Please. You’re killing me slowly.” Picking his head up, he looked at her and licked his lips.

“You ever think about what it would be like if we were trying to hide?” he asked.

“Trying to hide?” Darcy said.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said. “You want me to show you?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. She wanted him inside her. He crawled up her body and gave her a long, still look. He was making that unfathomable sex face, only somehow _more,_  and she could feel herself start to blush and sweat from the intensity of it. A bead of sweat slipped down her belly. He kissed her hungrily and almost roughly. Once Twice. Again. The forcefulness left her breathless and slightly reeling. Finally, he spoke.

“We’ve got at least ten minutes before he gets back,” he said, thrusting himself inside her. He fucked her urgently, talking her through it as if it was really happening. There was a frantic edge to his movements that she’d never felt before. He hadn’t lied; it was weirdly thrilling. She played along by whispering in his ear.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she told him. “It’s wrong.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your imaginary British husband, baby,” he said. “You belong with me.”

“With you?” Darcy said, still slightly out of breath and hanging on his shoulders as he jolted her whole body.

“With me, to me, whatever,” he said hotly. “Don’t deny it.” Even his voice sounded like a guy sneaking around. Hydra guys were better actors than Darcy had imagined.

Before she fell asleep--he’d drifted off first and was spooning her and snoring lightly in her ear--she wondered what the hell was going on in her life.

***

 

She woke up to the sound of the camera clicking and blinked sleepily, reaching for her glasses; he was sitting by the window. It was light outside. “More photos?” she said, yawning.

“Yeah,” he said. “Wife wants us to follow them some more today. Husband told her his work trip had been extended.” His voice was arch. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they head somewhere fun. It’s sunny. A Forks girl will want to be outside in sunny weather. My money’s on Victoria.” Darcy suppressed a stray thought about glittering vampires.

“Canada? What about Jack? Isn’t he coming back today?” Darcy said. “Should we be there at the office to meet him?”

“He’s a grown man, he don’t need a welcoming committee, sweetheart,” Brock told her, grinning. “That’s sweet of you, though. He’ll be touched. Get up and get ready. I don’t know when they’ll leave.” At her groan of misery--she did not want to get out of bed this early--he smiled. “I’ll make you coffee,” he said.

“It better be good,” she grumbled. “No powder half and half.”

 

They followed the cheating couple to one of the places on the waterfront. It was a shopping center called The Landing, named for the nearby dock for the ferry to Victoria. “See?” Brock said, almost smugly.

“Oh, I gotta get a photo of this,” Darcy said, spotting a painted stairway with huge three-dimensional salmon. They looked like they were made of copper.

“Yeah?” Brock said. He had his arm around her, but was casually keeping an eye on Sophie and Married Guy. He didn’t want them to leave on the ferry, he’d said to Darcy.

“My fish will love this thing,” she said. He chuckled and steered her closer to the couple.

“There’s nothing much here,” Sophie was complaining to Married Guy.  “Just a restaurant, the wine place, and those little art galleries.”

Darcy sucked in a breath and made a shocked sound. “Did she not see the fish staircase?” she asked Brock in a whisper.

“Shh,” he said.

“Someone’s awful whiny, is all I’m saying,” she said.

“Don’t be obvious,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, kissing him. He was a good kisser even when he was working, she realized. Just then, Married Guy suggested they catch the next ferry.

“Bingo,” Brock muttered. “You ever take a ferry to Canada, sweetheart?”

“I don’t have my fak--uh, regular passport,” she said. Phil had given her a full set of fake documents.

“Yeah,” he said. “I got it.” He patted a pocket. “I put it in the go bag the other day.”

“You think of everything, baby,” she told him. She was half-serious, half-obnoxious Stakeout Darcy.

“I try,” he said. “You ready? I’ll get us tickets, if I can.”

“Sure,” she said.

 

It was a car ferry. Darcy had only ever ridden on one ferry, one in Virginia that went from the mainland to her college friend’s parents’ chichi vacation home on an island. The island had been car-free and only let you use golf carts. She and her friend had almost been in two golf cart crashes that weekend. She was laughingly telling Brock about it as they were en route to Canada, with Sophie and Married Guy in view. It was nice enough to stand outside, along the railing. “So, this old retired guy starts yelling at me about going too fast,” Darcy said. “In my defense, it was like a souped up golf cart? I thought they went slow, so I’d hit the gas really hard and we took off and Stacy was screaming and I was screaming and the old guy starts literally chasing us in his golf cart.”

“He chased you?” Brock said incredulously.

“He wanted to citizen’s arrest us for golf cart speeding and called the island police. They let us go when Stacy explained I’d never driven a golf cart before. It was an incredibly uptight island. They had a dress code for being outside doing your gardening, Stacy told me,” Darcy said. “Not that most of those people did yard work. I never want to live anywhere like that, it’s unnatural to be so rich you want to control everything.”

“Don’t you live with Tony?” Brock said in a low voice.

“Exactly. That’s part of his problem,” she said. “One of them.”

“You don’t see yourself living there forever?” he asked curiously.

“No,” Darcy said. “I don’t know where I’ll go, though. It’ll all work out, whatever happens. For all I know, I could end up in Asgard with Thor and Jane as King and Queen, be Jane’s lady-in-waiting, laying out her clothes everyday.”

“Yeah,” Brock said, looking out to the water. “You think that’s what you’d end up as, her lady-in-waiting?” he asked.

“Yeah, what else would I do?” Darcy said. He shrugged. They could see the sea distantly from where they were crossing the Strait of Juan de Fuca, which separated Washington state from Vancouver Island. The view was beautiful, Darcy thought. They both got quiet. Darcy loved salt air. It was just great to stand there in the sun, smelling the salt spray of the water as the ferry crossed. Halfway across the strait, someone in one of the tourist clusters yelled “Welcome to Canada!” and she laughed.

“What’s funny about Canada?” Brock asked.

“I was just wondering if that makes the whales Canadian or American,” Darcy said. She’d seen a sign for whale watching tours. There were orcas and other whales in the strait. How different this place was from even coastal Virginia.

“Maybe they have dual citizenship,” he said back and she smiled. She half turned and rested her head on his shoulder, looking towards Vancouver Island. “What are you thinking about?” he asked suddenly.

“I was just thinking about how different this part of the country is from anywhere else I’ve been,” she said. “But you know, maybe not?”

“No?” he asked.

“I read this description once of what Virginia and the Carolinas were like when they were colonized by Europeans. Thick forests all the way to the shoreline, it said. These explorers wrote that the air was sweet with the scent of cypress trees,” she said. He looked down at her. “What are you thinking?” she asked him.

“What’s Asgard like?” he said. He knew she’d been there.

“Lots of gold,” she said. “It’s oddly...steampunk? It looks like it was designed by Jules Verne after he had a fever dream of Heaven, honestly.”

“Not your idea of heaven, then?” he asked.

“Well, no,” Darcy admitted, “I mean, it’s cool to visit, but it’s not exactly a place that feels _human_ to me. It’s bigger and weirder and like watching Shakespeare in the round performed by the Gronk and his football buddies.”

“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s some description.”

“Uh-huh. How long is this ferry ride again?” she asked          

“Ninety minutes to Victoria,” he said, tucking her under his arm. “You wanna play some music?”

She stuck one earbud in his ear and one in hers and played Tom Petty. "I love him," she said. Then she switched over to Vance Joy.

“Nice song,” he said once. “What’s it called?”

“Georgia,” she said. Then she went into her deep cuts and weird playlists.  
  
"What the hell is that?" Brock said, in that tone of fond exasperation.  
  
"It's called "Mama Got the Blues." It's by CW Stoneking. He's Australian, like Jack," she said. "Oh, I've got something else cool. I like this one. Crooked Still's cover of Robert Johnson's "Come on in My Kitchen" is wonderful. Listen."                     
  
"Not bad," he admitted.

“You want to hear the Robert Johnson original?” she said. He gave her a long look.

“Yeah, fine,” he said. 

A minute later, he looked curious. “So, Robert Johnson wants the woman back?”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “Badly.”

“But why the damn kitchen?” he asked.

“No idea, but the reference to nickels in her nation sack is probably about a love spell he did,” Darcy said. “He’s given up on her coming back.”

“The love spell didn’t work, huh?” Brock asked. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She had no clue, he thought. No clue at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Strait of Juan de Fuca is incredible-looking: https://www.sanjuansafaris.com/whale-report/strait-juan-de-fuca
> 
> View from the Canadian side: http://www.ouradventureshousesitting.com/2012/08/hiking-along-strait-of-juan-de-fuca.html
> 
> The copper salmon are real, too: http://gbphotodidactical.ca/images/Photo-Trip-to-Port-Angeles-35-2010-07-23-317-Salmon-Staircase-in-Downriggers-Building-PORT%20ANGELES-WASHINGTON-U.S.A.JPG


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vacations in Victoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos.

Victoria was incredible. It had beautiful architecture, stunning gardens, and fantastic restaurants. Darcy got to see all of it as they tailed their client’s husband over the next several days. The client wanted to know every detail about her husband’s activities, so they followed them everywhere. Sometimes they were close by, other times far away, but they went every-freaking-where. Brock implied he'd put a GPS on their car. Or possibly, inside Married Guy's shoe. Darcy hadn’t walked around this much in years. “I thought people in this situation liked to stay in their hotel rooms?” she complained quietly to Brock on day three. They were sitting in a cafe. Their marks were kissing at a table on the other side of the room.

“I’ll rub your feet tonight,” he said coolly. His expression was bored and petulant. In his guise as Asshole Tourist Brock, he was wearing reflective aviators, battered jeans, and an array of gym t-shirts. There was a leather jacket involved, too, but Darcy couldn’t begrudge him that. She’d always had a thing for them on men. Even in stealth schmuck mode, he was freaking dreamy. Darcy sighed. “What?” he asked quietly, dropping some of his edgy public manner. “Did I do something?”

“I was sort of hoping that we’d get to spend more time in our hotel room,” she said sadly. Victoria had nice hotels. Nice hotels with very comfortable beds.

“Yeah?” Brock said. He gave her a slow grin. He leaned forward. “I’m expensing the hell out of all this, sweetheart. Once the client finally has all she wants, you and I are going home and we’re going to spend a week in bed. As far as I’m concerned, you’re my next job.”

“Promises, promises, babe,” Darcy said in a vocal fry-ish singsong. That was how Asshole Tourist Darcy talked.

“I’ll work very hard,” he said warmly, still in his normal, sexy voice.

“Cut it out,” she muttered. It was bad enough that her feet hurt; it was worse when she wanted to crawl into his lap and muss him up, but couldn’t. They might have to leave on foot at any moment. As if on cue, she saw Sophie get up.

“They’re on the move,” he said, standing up and sliding her coffee into his tray. He switched back to Asshole mode. “C’mon, baby, shake a leg, we gotta go,” he barked. Darcy followed after him and he followed Sophie and Married Guy. After a few steps, Brock reached back for her hand. “You get too tired, I’ll carry you,” he said under his breath.

“Thanks,” Darcy said. He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. Mercifully, their couple stopped at a store.

“You wanna go in?” Brock said. It was a jewelry store.

“Sure,” Darcy said. She had a bad feeling about the client would react to seeing her husband buying another woman jewelry, but at least she could window shop and possibly lean against a counter in exhaustion covertly.

 

As soon as they went inside, Brock assumed his jerk tourist guise and started asking the clerk about skeleton jewelry to match his Santa Muerte. “Yeah, but you got anything with diamonds?” he was saying, as Darcy drifted away. Sophie and the Married Guy, she realized, were actually looking at engagement rings. Darcy suppressed the urge to yell at him about his wife and merely pretended to take duckface selfies while she covertly took photos of them. “Hey, hey, baby, come look at this,” Brock barked at her.

“Yeah?” she said, moving back over to him languidly. She twirled her hair a little. She hated when other women did that.

“What do you think?” he asked. It was a heavy men’s bracelet with a medaillon. The medaillon had motif of scythes in a circular design.

“What is it?” Darcy said, playing dumb. “It looks like banana peels on sticks.”

“Banana peels? Banana peels?” he said loudly. “It’s fucking scythes.”

“What?” Darcy said.

“Just where the fuck were you educated? Did you just skip school for years or what?” Brock scolded. “It’s the Santa Muerte’s symbol for reaping. It’s a farm tool, you’d think they’d at least teach that.”

“I dunno, I wasn’t in, like, 4H or whatever,” Darcy said. “We do calculus now, not farming methods.” She rolled her eyes at him when he looked away and the clerk grinned and gave her the once-over. Which was partially Brock’s fault: he packed her comfy yoga pants along with a bunch of clingy, soft tops with lower necklines. Usually, she wore them under loose sweaters, but he either hadn’t realized or didn’t care. She was getting a lot of attention as they trekked around Victoria. A woman in a store had told her she looked like Nigella Lawson’s baby sister and Darcy knew it was about the girls, not her face or hair.

“You hear that?” he said to the clerk. “Princess here took calculus.”

“Shut up,” Darcy said. He’d started calling her princess whenever he was being a real troll.

“I like this one. What do you think of this one?” Brock asked her about a ring, holding his hand out and studying it. Darcy shrugged.

“It’s, um, pretty? It’s a skull ring, babe. If you like it, get it,” she said. Truly, it was hideous. It had brown stones for eyes. She knew he’d never wear it in real life. If he bought it, it would be as a gag gift for Jack. Brock made fun of his rings.

“You don’t like it,” he said in that aggressive voice. “Why don’t you fucking tell me when you don’t like things, huh? Why you gotta lie to me?”

“I just want you to be happy,” Darcy said. “Why can you be fucking happy? You want to know what I like? Okay, I’ll tell you: jewelry without goddamn skulls, okay? It’s supposed to be pretty.”

“Is this your way of telling me you hate your birthday present?” he yelled back. “Cause I never see you wearing it!”

“You know I hate skulls,” Darcy snapped. “These were skulls made out of plastic,” she hissed.

“Please, it was fucking Kate Spade jewelry. You’re always going on and on about how much you looove Kate Spade,” he said. “I buy you some damn Kate Spade and you hate that, too. What the fuck is that, princess?”

“I cannot do this here with you right now,” Darcy said and stomped off to another corner of the store. She was casually looking for something stupidly expensive--it would be great fodder for a mock fight--as Brock took more photos of their couple. Who were now actually trying on engagement rings. Wasn’t that some shit, Darcy thought. Poor wife. How did the husband just do that? She’d decided men were unpredictable animals when something over in the estate jewelry section caught her eye.

It was a beautiful black pearl necklace. “Hey, baby, you looking at the pearl necklaces?” Brock called from a few feet away, as leeringly and obviously as possible. “Cause I’ll give you one, honey.”

“We’re in public!” she shrieked back at him. “You’re a disgusting pig.” She crossed her arms and tried to look like she might cry instead of dissolve into laughter. He was always getting her to almost lose it like this. She was sure he was trying to come up with terribly dirty things to say on purpose. He might have them written in a notebook somewhere, sort of like Mr. Collins’ compliment notebook from _Pride & Prejudice_, only in reverse. Maybe he worked on them while she slept?

“Hey,” he said, coming up behind her and bumping her ass a little. “C’mon, I was just joking, honey. They know we don’t do that. You know, right?” he asked a horrified-looking female clerk. He wrapped his arms around Darcy’s shoulders and noisily kissed the side of her face. “C’mon, baby, it’s a joke.”

“That’s gross,” Darcy said. She visibly pouted. She wasn’t going to tell him which things she really liked, either. Too weird to fight over something she genuinely wanted.

“Don’t be like that,” he wheedled her. “Tell me what you like over here. Not that one,” he said, pointing to a cat’s eye gemstone ring. It was ghastly. “Is it that one?” he asked, pointing to another sapphire. “It better not be emeralds,” he said dryly.

“Is there a problem with emeralds?” the clerk at the estate counter asked, confused.

“Her ex gave her emeralds,” Brock supplied.

“He’s only a friend of the family,” Darcy insisted. “My brother-in-law’s brother.” In essence, that was how she thought of Loki, anyway.

“A friend who gives emeralds? C’mon,” Brock said, sharing a look with clerk. “How often you see that?”

“Not often,” the clerk admitted.

“He wanted in your pants, baby, I keep telling you. There’s only one reason men do anything,” Brock said. Loudly. He smacked a big kiss on the side of her face again and squeezed her. “Tell me what you like? It is really the pearls? Those are nice. Can you show us those?” he asked the clerk. He’d caught that.

“They’re probably really expensive,” Darcy said. If they were vintage, natural pearls, she knew a whole matching strand could be worth as much as a luxury car. Cultured ones were cheaper, because they were made on the equivalent of pearl farms (she’d heard something on NPR about Mikimoto inventing the process, thanks to Erik). This was a double-strand necklace with diamond accents on the decorative clasp. Darcy liked the softness of the irregular pearl shape and the way the diamonds glittered against the pearl color. The clasp was pretty enough to wear in the front.

“They’re not inexpensive,” the clerk admitted.

“Holy fuck,” Brock said when he saw the price tag. “For a used necklace?”

“They’re very high quality,” the saleswoman said, “so they’re worth more than something new.”

“Hear that? You got good taste, baby. Can she try them on?” he asked. “What the fuck are they this color for?”

“Yes, she can,” the clerk said politely, “they’re Tahitian, so the black color is natural, but they’re cultured pearls.” She set them on the counter.

“Necklaces got culture now, huh? Who fucking knew?” Brock said, taking the necklace. “Why aren’t they round?”

“That shape is called baroque,” the clerk said, moving a countertop mirror for Darcy, so she could see her reflection.

“Hold your hair back, baby, let’s see how these look,” he said, draping them around her neck.

“They’re pretty,” Darcy admitted. They looked really good against her pale skin. But she couldn’t afford to splurge on them. And it wasn’t like they were the kind of thing she could wear in Forks, really.

“You really like ‘em?” Brock asked. He studied her reflection in the mirror on the counter. Was he actually serious? She’d expected him to start a fight about them. She shook her head a fraction.

“But do you think they make me look older, babe? Like too formal? I don’t dress for this kind of jewelry,” she said in her artificial Tourist Darcy voice.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll get you these once you hit forty-five, baby,” he said, smacking her ass and laughing. “You can age into ‘em. If I’m not dating a twenty-five year old by then.” Brock moved down the jewelry display.

“Shut up!” Darcy said. “He’s such a pain,” she told the clerk, taking off the necklace and handing it back. “I’m sorry about that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “These are beautiful.” Darcy couldn’t quite bring herself to be obnoxious to sales staff. She’d worked retail part-time at Culver for one holiday season. She had more PTSD from one Black Friday than from when aliens showed up. This poor woman was probably putting up with them for ten bucks an hour or something. “Can I try that on?” she asked, pointing to a little diamond and sapphire ring. The saleswoman brought it out and Darcy tried it on.

“Genuine antique. It’s gorgeous on you,” the saleswoman said, “and not emeralds.” She slid her eyes towards Brock.

“Oh, no, it’s too expensive for me,” Darcy said quickly. “And a ring would be...problematic?” she whispered. “I don’t want him to throw a fit in here. He’s divorced.” The woman grimaced in sympathy and nodded. Darcy glanced over. Brock was having some conversation with the male clerk about skull things. From the look on the clerk’s face, he was laying it on thick. She took the ring off and handed it back to the saleswoman. “Thank you,” she said politely. She let the woman go back to assisting Sophie and Married Guy.  She wandered around until Brock came and got her. She was looking at the black pearls and rings again. It was really too bad she wasn’t as rich as Tony. She’d buy up a whole counter and just roll around in all the sparkle.

“Princess,” Brock said, “what have I told you? No fucking engagement rings. Ever. I’m not getting married again. Let’s go.” He’d bought the terrible skull ring.

 

***

Jack Rollins had spent a quiet several days at the office. He’d stopped by the out of town PO Box and picked up Darcy’s care package on the way back and left it--along with some lavender things from Sequim---on her kitchen island, then busied himself with odds and ends. He found working alone rather peaceful. He’d had a handful of long phone calls with Roger, finished up his client reports, eaten all the Dungeness crab himself, done a little bookkeeping, and read a novel. Forks was a good place for clearing your head, Jack believed, despite the tourists loudly woo-hooing outside their office window. It was half-price margarita night. He’d opened the blinds. He wondered why Darcy had closed them? Brock never closed the blinds. He chuckled to himself; they’d probably had sex on a desk or something. He wondered how things were going in Victoria. They were probably having a great time.

Jack went upstairs to retrieve another novel--Roger had recommended Aimee Bender--and was carrying _The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake_ downstairs when he heard a voice in Darcy’s apartment. It was a female voice. Drawing his gun, Jack shouldered the door open slowly. There appeared to be no one inside. He stepped in, scanned his surroundings and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then, something on Darcy’s nightstand caught his eye. A moving woman’s face. It looked like a distressed, albeit very beautiful, face. “G’day, are you Dr. Foster, miss?” Jack asked the tablet screen.

“Where is Darcy?” Jane asked.

“Gone to Victoria with Brock. They’re following a pair of adulterers, love,” Jack said, smiling. “I’m Jack, by the way.”

“Oh,” Jane said. “I was worried. It’s nice to meet you.” Jack thought Dr. Foster looked a little nervous, so he smiled more. Her eyes widened.

“She’s left this behind, I’m afraid. Left in a hurry. I picked up your care package for her the other day,” he said politely. “It looks bonzer. I was in Sequim, got it on the way back.”

“Skwim?” Jane said in confusion.

“That’s how they say it, love, not that it makes any sense to me,” Jack said cheerfully. “Can I pass a message onto Darcy? I can text her burner phone.”

“Just tell her we miss her here,” Jane said. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“The client wants them to follow her husband ‘til he’s finished his vacation with a local sheila, love, so it’s difficult to say. A few days, probably,” Jack said.

“Oh,” Jane said, sighing. She missed Darcy.

 

***

Brock left her sitting on a bench near the store, holding his bag, while he ran for a coffee. She was watching the adulterers, still in the jewelry store. He brought her back a deliciously sugary mocha just as Sophie and Married Guy left. They trailed a discreet distance behind them for a while, until they got to a larger shopping center. Sophie was apparently on an engagement ring search. “Shit,” Brock said suddenly. He was looking in his bag. “I left the receipt at the other place. Can you watch them and I’ll be back?” he asked. “I want Jack to be able to return this damn thing,” he said, grinning. He gave her another of those noisy kisses and left.

They could communicate by cell phone if they were separated; he’d gotten her a cheap burner smartphone to use for work. Darcy followed the couple alone. It was kind of relaxing to not have to pretend to be pissed off at Brock. Of course, women in terrible relationships usually looked happier when their boyfriends weren’t around, she thought with a snicker. They ended up going to another jewelry store. Darcy wandered around, looking at all the jewelry. Her stomach growled; there must be a pretzel place somewhere, because she could smell cinnamon and sugar and dough. It was making her hungry. She sipped her latte and sneakily took pictures of the couple. When Brock texted her that he was back in the shopping center, she sent him the name of the store. A few minutes later, he wandered in, looking churlish. He was even wearing his sunglasses indoors.

“Hey, babe,” she said indifferently.

“More jewelry, princess?” he complained loudly. She tried not to laugh.

“You’re wearing more than me!” she shot back. He actually was. Asshole Tourist Brock liked man bling. “Look,” she said. “Medaillon, ring, bracelet, watch. Why don’t you pierce your ears?”

“Maybe I will,” he said back. “At least I like the jewelry I buy me.”

“Not this again,” she said, stomping off. Loudly. He followed her.

“You’re just walking away?” he said.

“You buy me things you think I should like, not what I do like,” she told him.

“What the hell should I do then?” he said.

“I dunno,” she said, pouting.

“Don’t fucking do that,” he snapped. “Disengage.”

“I’m de-escalating the conflict, just like the therapist said! That’s different from disengaging!” she yelled. “You know that.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry,” he said begrudgingly. She stared at him. “Are you going to fucking say it back?”

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. She put a little tremble in her lip. “I hate when we fight!” she wailed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. C’mon, baby, you know what I mean,” he said, rubbing her shoulders. “The therapist said gifts were my love language, but I can’t ever get it right.” She covered her face to hide her laughter.

“You do sometimes,” Darcy said, from behind her hand. She fake-sniffled a little. The love language thing had almost gotten her again.

“Why don’t you pick something out that you actually like?” he said coaxingly. “C’mon, show me. Let’s look.” He guided her over to the jewelry counters and squeezed her again. The squeeze turned into a longer embrace and he started kissing her neck. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said.

“I love you so much, babe,” Darcy told him dramatically. It felt right for the character she was playing to veer wildly between love and anger.

“Yeah, I know,” he said teasingly. “I’m very loveable.” She swatted at him.

“Asshole!” she said loudly.

“I love you, too, princess,” he said sarcastically. “Hey, what about these?” he said, pointing to a pair of earrings. Tiny diamonds in a long, curved strip. “You can’t not like that, right?” he asked. “Can she try those on?” he asked a sales clerk, who was reorganizing a tray of rings.

“Yes,” the clerk said politely. Canadians were so nice. Darcy felt a little sorry for them, given the antics of Asshole Tourist Brock and Whiny Tourist Darcy.

“Do they hang or something?” Brock asked. It was amazing how he could make a regular question seem rude.

“Um, no,” the salesman said, “these are ear crawlers. They go up the ear like so.” He held the earring up to Darcy’s ear. He quailed some when Brock--in full asshole mode--gave him a glare.

“Are you trying to touch my girl?” he said.

“Baaaaabe,” Darcy whined. “Don’t be like this. He’s just doing his job.”

“That’s what you said about the waiter at lunch, but I saw him looking at your tits,” Brock groused. The word lunch made Darcy a little sad; they hadn’t actually had lunch yet. She was getting hungry.

“I can do it,” Darcy said, reaching for the earring. She mouthed sorry at the sales guy.

“No, no, fucking let me, okay?” Brock said. But once the earring was in her ear, he perked up a little. He took his sunglasses off and hung them along his shirt collar. “These are cool, baby. They’re different. Edgy or some shit,” he said. He looked at the salesman. “You got anything just like this, but bigger?”

“Bigger?” Darcy said.

“You gotta bling it out, baby,” Brock said obnoxiously. “Go big or go home.”

“After this, can we get a hot pretzel?” Darcy whined. “I’m hungryyyyyyyy.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said dismissively. As Sophie and Married Guy looked at diamond solitaires--Darcy had picked up that Sophie actually had pretty classic taste--the salesman brought Brock all the ear crawlers in the entire freaking store. Darcy tried not to laugh as Brock did his best impression of a middle aged wannabe cool guy who was suddenly all into a trendy thing for his girlfriend. The salesman gave him an astute glance and started bringing over the ear crawlers that had black diamonds, too. “Look how cool these are, baby,” Brock said.

“Have you heard of ear jackets?” the Canadian asked politely. Darcy had to stifle a laugh. The salesman knew his marks, too. Darcy decided to go get her own hot pretzel.

“I’m starving, babe,” she told Brock. “Can I go get get food?”

“Sure, baby,” he said. “You need cash?”

“No, I can pay for my own pretzel,” she said.

“News to me,” he snarked.

“Bite me,” she said. “Do you want one?”

“Get me the garlic one. Extra mustard,” he said.

 

When she came back with the pretzels, he was waiting in front of the jewelry store. “What are you doing?” she said in a whisper. He was holding a new bag.

“I bought you something you don’t deserve,” he said coolly. “You’re welcome, princess.” Then he winked at her.

“I got you extra mustard, jerk face,” Darcy said. She was feeling a teensy bit petty and irritated. She wasn’t sure if she was hangry or just going too Method actress. They sat on a nearby bench and ate. He reached over and squeezed her thigh. “Don’t get Parmesan on my pants,” Darcy muttered in a grouchy voice.

“C’mon, baby,” he said, too loudly, “be nice to me on vacation. What do you want to do tonight?”

“I’m tired,” Darcy said, pouting. “My feet hurt, babe.”

“Do you need a nap, princess?” he snarked.

“Maybe,” Darcy said, trying to look as spoiled and petulant as possible. He tossed the pretzel envelopes and stuff in the trash, then pulled her into his lap.

“You do a really good impression of a spoiled trophy girlfriend,” he whispered in her ear. “You might want to think about that as a career option.”

“I’m thinking I might want to find an older, richer boyfriend,” Darcy said back in a low voice. “An eighty year old Texas oil billionaire probably wouldn’t make me walk so much.” He laughed in her ear, then started kissing her.

They were making out so intensely that she almost missed Sophie and Married Guy leave the store. Once they’d gone ten feet, Brock huffed out a sigh and started detaching himself from Darcy on the bench. “Gotta work, princess,” he said, shifting back into troll mode.

Thankfully, Sophie and Married Guy were done shopping--at least for the moment. “Now they get food?” Darcy snarked, as they went into a bistro.

“Obviously, you need more food,” Brock said. He was amused. “I’ll get you extra fries.” She grinned to herself; he so wanted to steal some of them, she knew. Once they were seated—he asked for a table with their targets in selfie range—he immediately ordered her food. It was cute, actually. The effect was slightly lessened by the way he ordered: snapping his fingers and being smarmy. “You want Caesar salad, babe? She loves french fries and Caesar salad, ain’t that the weirdest damn thing?” Brock said to a baffled Canadian waiter.

“Uh, um,” the waiter said.

“It’s okay. He does this, we’re Americans,” Darcy said.

“What’s that mean?” Brock said.

“Mark knows,” she said, reading the waiter’s tag and grinning.

“Are you fucking flirting with other men in front of me now?” Brock snapped. Poor Mark started stammering. “Go get her fries, Mark,” he sneered. “We need to talk.” They mock bickered again; a fake-crying Darcy fled to the bathroom and almost ran straight into Sophie.

“I’m sorry,” she said, momentarily thrown.

“It’s okay,” Sophie said. “Listen, I’ve seen you around...you’re on vacation with your boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, praying Sophie didn’t recognize her from Forks.

“I know it’s not my place, but you can leave him, if you need to. There are resources for women out there,” Sophie said kindly.

“Oh,” Darcy said. She was so stunned, she didn’t laugh until Sophie left the bathroom. When she got back to the table, Brock was sermonizing at Mark about Canadian healthcare and how it could never work for the United States. “Babe, don’t talk politics at people, they hate that,” Darcy said. “Sorry.”

“We were having a polite conversation, princess,” he said back. Mark took that opportunity to excuse himself and practically bolted to another table.

“Polite conversation, huh?” she said.

“Come sit in my lap, baby,” Brock said. “We’ll take some pictures for your Insta. Here,” he said, pulling out the jewelry store bag. “I got you a present.” Darcy clapped and shrieked.

“I love presents!” she said in a high-pitched voice. She practically leapt into his lap and did that whole girl-whose-boyfriend-bought-jewelry squeal. 

“I’ll put them on for you, baby,” he said loudly. Then he grinned. “I really thought he’d leave sooner when I started talking about healthcare, but Canadians are so polite,” Brock said in a whisper, shaking his head a fraction. She opened the box.

“Oh my God, babe these are beautiful!” she shrieked. People turned and stared. They stopped and took a few photos with Sophie and Married Guy in the background.

"That should do it," Brock said.

“I really do like them. How much did you spend?” Darcy asked, more quietly. She’d been expecting those ear crawlers she didn’t really like, but instead he’d gotten her a pair of discreet-looking silver disk earrings. They had an interesting texture.

“Not too much. They’re made from castings of actual shells, I thought your fish would appreciate that. Why?” he whispered, kissing behind her ears. He put in one earring, then the other, carefully. He leaned down and kissed her neck.

“Because I didn’t know if I’d need to return them if they were hugely expensive,” Darcy said in a whisper. She giggled. His stubble tickled. “We can’t exactly expense these,” she said.

“Why would I make you return a gift?” he whispered in her ear. “I’m offended.”

“Offended?” she murmured against his cheek. God, he smelled good. Tasted good.

“You let Laufeyson shower you with emeralds, but you’re worried about me spending money?” he asked.

“I was under the impression business was slow,” she said quietly in his ear. He kissed her noisily.

“I have my ways,” he said. His hand had crept down to her ass.

“That’s totally my line,” she said. He started purposefully tickling her stomach with his other hand until she shrieked and drew the attention of multiple tables. “Stop! Stop!” she hissed, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“You like this present?” he asked, looking at her.

“Yes,” she said sincerely. She really did like them. She didn’t want to return them. For a minute, Darcy was transfixed by the little flecks of green in his brown eyes.

“Better than that skull stuff, huh, princess?” he said in that obnoxious voice, breaking the spell.

“Ugh, I’m going back to my chair,” Darcy pouted.

“C’mon, baby, have a sense of humor,” he teased. “Here’s your fucking salad anyway,” he said, nodding his chin at Mark, approaching with a tray. “Who likes salad?”

“Shut up,” Darcy said. She mentally shook herself as she sat back down in her own chair. It would be a total mess if she developed actual, like, _actual fact_ feelings for Brock Rumlow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The earrings are something like this in my head: https://www.meandrojewelry.com/products/e42320-s
> 
> And the pearls at the first store are like this + fancy clasp: https://pin.it/563onprdzl26qr


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peacocks and roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos.

After lunch, they followed Sophie and Married Guy to Butchart Gardens again. It was their second trip. “This place is stunning,” Darcy said, as they walked under an arch covered in pink rose blooms. The other couple was twenty feet ahead. They were doing more long-distance surveillance. Brock liked to alternate between staying closer and moving farther away, just to appear more natural.

“You like roses?” Brock asked suddenly. They were in the rose garden part.

“I like them on plants,” she said. “Not in perfumes. Too heavy, somehow? And I’ve never understood the long stem thing. What is that about?”

“No idea,” he said, chuckling. “You feel better now that we’ve had lunch,” he commented. “You get quiet when you’re hungry.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “Jane calls it the Silent Warning.” He laughed and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

“Stay still for a minute,” he said, kissing the back of her head and rubbing her shoulders. “Stay with me.”

“Babe,” Darcy whined, ”you’re messing up my hair.”

“Yeah, so? Who’s gonna stop me? You? You ain’t gonna,” he snarked back. He squeezed her until she broke away and danced out of his grip. “Get back here,” he said, in an almost growly voice. It was surprisingly hot.

“Nuh-uh,” Darcy said.

“Princess, what the fuck you doing?” he said.

“You’ll have to catch me,” she sassed and walked backwards away from him. They played at a casual, slow chase for the next twenty minutes. She stayed just far enough ahead of him and he pursued her, sighing and complaining.

“Get back here, dammit,” he said, once they were in the Italian Garden. An older couple looked at him. “This is what I get for dating somebody young. What are you, five? C’mon.”

“Nope!” Darcy called, laughing. It was genuinely fun. “You have to catch me!”

“Fine, I’m getting gelato without you,” he said. They sold gelato in the Italian Garden.

“Rude!” Darcy yelled. She drifted back towards him when she realized he gotten a double cone and was sitting down at a table. Darcy reached for the one he was eating. “Can I have some?”

“Nuh-uh, princess,” he said. “Say sorry.”

“For playing tag?” Darcy said, putting her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you get me one?”

“Because you hurt my feelings when you run away,” he said. “What have we talked about? You need to work on your public behavior and stop behaving like a child when you get bored or whatever.”

“You’re bossy,” she said.

“I’m the boss, baby, there’s a difference,” he said. He gave her one of his Asshole Tourist Brock looks: confident to the point of arrogance, a little peacocky. She rolled her eyes. “Sit down, behave like an adult,” he said, gesturing to his lap with the cone. It was delicious-looking.

“Fiiiiiiiiiiiine,” Darcy pouted. “But sitting in your lap doesn’t seem very adult.”

“Nope,” he said. He winked at her as he passed her the gelato. “But it’s fun for me.”

“This is soooo good,” she said, once she’d had some. “You like raspberry?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I like things that are a little tart,” he said suggestively. He said it loudly enough that other people could hear.

“Shut up,” she said, licking the gelato. She caught him staring at her mouth and grinned wickedly.

“Oh, by the way, I ran into Sophie in the bathroom,” she said in a whisper, passing the cone back to him. His eyebrows went up, but he took the cone.

“What happened?” he said quietly.

“She tried to convince me to leave you and find resources for emotionally abused women,” Darcy whispered. He almost choked on the gelato.

 

***

 

After the the post-lunch stroll around the Butchart gardens, the hunt for engagement rings continued. They’d shifted to a more distance-based surveillance tactic since lunch; Brock didn’t want Sophie to notice Darcy again, so this meant he was taking photos of them from across the street or twenty feet back with an inconspicuous PI camera. She marveled at how he could either make the camera seem small or behave as if he was taking obnoxious tourist shots. It was impressively subtle, even if Sophie and Married Guy were so in love they hadn’t noticed anyone.

They’d followed Sophie and Married Guy as they visited many, many jewelry stores. They were now following them into a different mall. Most of the stand alone jewelry stores they’d started at had closed for the day, but the mall ones were open until nine or ten pm. It was eight o’ clock. “This is nuts,” Darcy whispered to Brock. “He’s already married. We’ve been walking around for hours. Who does that?”

“People who are madly in love, sweetheart,” he said. “And also, people who need to do all their shopping on the trip they’re hiding from their wife.” He chuckled. He was talking in a quiet version of his normal voice. Darcy liked that voice. She was almost ready to tell him that. She leaned against him a little. “Tired?” he asked her. “Let’s go in, but keep your distance, okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. She perked up some when she realized the perfume section of this department store was near-ish to fine jewelry. She let Brock go alone to capture a little video or photos of Sophie and Married Guy with his phone or whatever. He found her back in the perfumes. She’d left hers back in Forks and felt odd without it. She stopped at one bottle, sniffed, and smiled. “Memories,” she said to Brock, to explain.

“What?” Brock said. “Your mom wear that or something?”

“No, my college roommate. She was very chic, for Culver. French major. She had a little bob and wore French perfume. She was the first person I’d ever met who had black pearls, too,” Darcy told him. “She’s a French teacher now. Takes student groups to Paris every summer, wears Paris, it’s a whole life theme.”

“Yves Saint Laurent, huh?” he said, sniffing the bottle. He grinned a fraction. “That’s a, uh, big scent.”

“For me, it smells like going out and all night study rooms on the third floor of the library, weirdly,” Darcy said, taking the tester back.

“What makes it so strong?” he asked quietly. He was using his real voice, she realized.

“Roses, I think? It’s better when it dries down some. What would you pick for me?” she asked.

“What?” he said.

“Pick something you like,” she said. “I’m curious.”

“You’re curious, baby?” he said, sounding a little more arrogant, a little more in-persona. She rolled her eyes. His eyes had lit up.

“Yeah, babe,” she said, falling back into Tourist Darcy. “Wow me.” She arched an eyebrow. “Unless you can’t.” He gave her an inscrutable look. 100% sex face. Then he started dragging her behind him as he smelled tester strip after tester strip. He nixed some as too sweet, others as too simple. It was fascinating to watch him play his character and also give her small, Actual Brock glances to see if she was laughing. She was always laughing.

“This smells cheap,” he said at one. “Oh, look, one named for you, princess,” he teased. He sniffed it. “That’s fucking disgusting. You should sue.”

“Gross,” he dubbed another. She was relieved when he bypassed some of the heavier perfumes, like Opium and Angel.

“Yuck.”

“This smells like a grandma. What the fuck, is that mothballs?”

“This one is halfway decent, but not special.”

“I just got a fucking cavity smelling that.”

“Why is everything so fucking pink?”

“Jesus, this smells like a stripper pole.”

“Hey,” Darcy said at the last one, “Jane wears that.”

“The astrophysicist wears Britney Spears’ Fantasy?” he said quietly, gobsmacked. Darcy laughed.

“Gotcha,” she said.

“Shit,” he said. “You did.” He went back into full persona. “Look, princess, there’s one called _Circus_ Fantasy? What kind of freaky sex shit is that? You ever have any fantasies about the damn circus?”

 

“Have you smelled everything yet?” Darcy asked him, finally. “Can we go now?” She was fake-pouting. Really, he was entertaining. She was having so much fun, even as he kept an eye on Sophie and Married Guy at the fine jewelry counter.

“I’m not done, princess,” he said, waving his arm at her. It was amazing that he could be so dismissive, so convincingly. She followed behind him as he stopped in front of a display. “I’ve never smelled this before,” he said, picking up a bottle of pink perfume with a bit of silver ribbon. He sprayed some on a strip. “Hmmm,” he said. “You should smell like this. It’s like candy, but not trashy. C’mere, baby.”  He took her arm and misted it with the perfume. “What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s good. Different from what I usually wear, but good,” she said. It was a Lancome: La Vie est Belle. The smell reminded Darcy of those raspberry filled Godiva truffles somehow. He was right. It did smell good. She actually liked it a lot. She liked vanilla and candy-like perfumes.

“I’m getting you a bottle of this,” he said. “This is good shit, princess.”

“Babe, it’s soooooo expensive, though,” Darcy said. “We could have a really nice dinner for that much.”

“I spend my money on you and you complain?” he said sharply. “Don’t worry,” he teased, “I’ll still feed you, baby.”

“Why are you doing this?” Darcy whispered. “We can’t expense it.” He grinned and kissed her forehead.

“That’s a secret,” he said quietly.

“You shouldn’t buy this,” she said in a lowered voice. “You already bought me something today.”

“You don’t like it?” he asked.

“No,I really like it,  it’s lovely. But that doesn’t mean you should spend”--she looked at the label on the shelf--”$75 for no good reason?”

“Oh, I have a good reason,” he said.

“Honey,” Darcy whined. With another little public fight--this one was half-serious--he talked her into at least letting him buy a little travel-size rollerball. Darcy was okay with that. At the register, he pretended not to know what La Vie est Belle meant and Darcy almost had a giggle fit at how the bilingual salesperson looked at him like he was from another planet.

 

It turned out, of course, that he had a whole thing for that particular perfume. He confessed as they walked down the street. They were distantly following Sophie and Married Guy to the next stop.  One of his previous girlfriends had worn it and he loved it. He’d done the whole elaborate charade just because it was his favorite. “As soon as you said that to me, I thought we could have some fun and I’d lead you to that,” he said.

“I can’t believe you fooled me like that,” Darcy said in a low voice. They snapped more sidewalk selfies as the other couple went into a restaurant.

“I’m a good actor,” he said, grinning.

“Also, I didn’t think men liked that kind of girly perfume?” she asked.  

“I do, I don’t care what anyone else likes,” he said. “I like sweet things. You want to eat here?”

“Nah, we’ve got photos of them going in. Can we call it a day?” she asked. “I’d kill to have some pizza.”

“You,” Brock said, kissing the side of her forehead, “are fantastic.”

“Because I want pizza?” she asked, confused.

“Every man dreams of a gorgeous woman who wants him to spend less money on her and asks for pizza instead of a fancy restaurant,” he said, checking his watch. He had a little notebook where he documented the hours they were spending. “Officially off the clock,” he said. “We’ll get pizza and then see when they get back.”

“Are you going to tell me how you figure that out?” Darcy asked.

“Nope,” he said. “My methods are SHIELD specific and need to know.”

“Is the GPS bug in his loafers?” Darcy whispered. “C’mon, tell me?” He gave her an expressionless look and shook his head. “Ugh, it is so annoying when you do that!” she said. He chuckled.

“Need to know, sweetheart,” he said.

“I miss your normal voice when we work,” Darcy blurted out. She regretted it almost as soon as she’d said it. He would think she was being weird. But he surprised her by smiling.

“Yeah?” he said. “I might miss your NPR factoids when you’re whining at me. Undercover you is like a whiny kid.”

“Rude,” she told him. “Also, that settles it: we’re getting pizza delivered to the hotel, so I can eat it in a bathrobe. I’m tired of shoes and pants.” He gave her a look.

“So fantastic,” he said, kissing her again.

“Does that mean you’ll wait for the pizza guy in the lobby if pizza is technically hotel illegal?” she said skeptically.

“Sure,” he said. “I’m calling the pizza place now. I’ll meet the delivery person.” He took out his phone.

While Brock waited down in the lobby, Darcy took a shower. She felt kinda grimy and very, very tired. She was never going to complain about the sitting-in-a-truck stakeouts again. She was desperate for a little truck-based surveillance with donuts again. What she really needed was Epsom salts and her little plastic foot spa. They were both with Jane. As she shampooed her hair, she noticed there was a berry tinge to the lather. Her hair dye was fading to a more of a pinkish  color, especially her highlights. Skye had been right; this dye faded fast. Hotel toiletries seemed especially color stripping. Darcy couldn’t refresh the plum Manic Panic until they got back to Forks. She slapped some plain conditioner on for a few minutes and hoped for the best. When she got out of the shower, she wrapped her wet hair in a towel to prevent weird pink stains anywhere, put on her fluffy hotel robe, and collapsed into the bed. She wondered if Phil would be upset if she changed her hair back to a less conspicuous color? She could always use being recognized by Sophie as a convenient rationale, right? She googled “covering Manic Panic” and ended up on a forum for DIY rainbow hair colors. One fake user name later, she’d asked about getting her hair back to a shade that occured in nature. Her burner phone kept pinging with replies. She read them curiously. There was a lot of stuff about the color wheel. Then she got a text from Jack, about Jane missing her. “Awww,” Darcy said out loud. It was nice to be missed. She tapped out a reply that featured heart emojis, then asked Jack if he knew anything about the color wheel. His boyfriend was an art guy, right? He might know.

 

***

 

Brock returned to the hotel room to find Darcy in her bathrobe with damp hair. “Pizza’s here. You took a bath without me?” he said, feeling slightly put out.

“Nope, shower,” she said. “Oooh, you got me a six pack of Diet Pepsi?” He’d grabbed a six pack for her and some beer for himself.

“It’s cheaper from the 7-11 across the street than the mini bar,” he said, shrugging.

“Do they call it something different in Canada? In France, Diet Coke is Coca Light, but Diet Pepsi is Pepsi Max, which I always thought was pretty size-ist, you know?” Darcy told him.

“Diet Pepsi,” he said, looking at the already-cold cans. He could feel himself relaxing as she talked normally. “You want more ice?” he asked.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” she said.

“It’s not,” he said, setting the pizza box on the bed and the Diet Pepsi on the nightstand. “I’ll be back.”

He returned with a bucket of ice and sat on the edge of the bed, half taking his shoes off and half eating a slice. She laughed. “What?” he asked.

“It’s funny to watch you hold pizza with your teeth,” she said.

“I’m gonna hold you with my teeth,” he threatened.

“Sure,” she said. Once he was down to his boxers and a t-shirt, he climbed into bed with her. Darcy smiled at him. He was slightly mesmerized by how delighted she looked to be eating pizza in a bathrobe.

“You like your deep dish, huh?” he asked. For some bizarre reason, she liked deep dish plain cheese pizza. Pizza with no meat? How could someone genuinely like that and Caesar salad?

“I love it,” she said happily. “You want to pick a movie?” The hotel had a free streaming service as a perk.

“Sure,” he said, putting his arm around her and taking the remote. She rested her towel covered head on his shoulder.

“Oh, wait,” she said suddenly. “I don’t want to get dye on your shirt. I’m bleeding pink everywhere. It looks like someone reenacted _Psycho_ in the bathroom.” He snorted. She’d been turning pink and more pink, day by day.

“It’s a black shirt, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her forehead. “No problem. What about this movie?” he asked. “Pacino and DeNiro?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, snuggling him. They ate pizza and made fun of the movie. “The writing of this is so bad,” Darcy told him. “Also, it strains credulity than Carla Gugino would be with Robert DeNiro. She’s way too young to be his love interest and their sex life is far too athletic for a guy his age?”

“A guy his age?” Brock said. “I’m offended, sweetheart. Do I need to show you what a guy my age can do?” He toyed with the tie of her bathrobe.

“Maybe,” she said. “But just to clarify, you’re much, much sexier than DeNiro, even on his best day.”

“You think I’m sexier than DeNiro?” he said, amused.

“Even _Godfather Part II_ DeNiro,” she said, in a solemn sounding voice. “As Frigga is my witness.”

“Thank you, baby,” he said, kissing her.  Her little oath was a trigger. The problem of the outside world was still there, weighing on his mind, but he pushed it aside, forced himself not to tense up. Fuck Asgard and what Asgard wanted. So what if it was obvious to everyone but Darcy that Loki was seriously interested or that Jane and Thor were probably hoping for a match between their respective adopted siblings? Darcy didn’t see it at all. She thought she’d end up Jane’s lady’s maid? He scoffed internally. He hadn’t started calling her princess for nothing. He untied the robe. Her skin was so pale and creamy. "You're beautiful, baby," he said.

"No, I'm just pale," she said.

"Beautiful," he insisted. He kissed her, trailing his mouth up and down her body. He’d never been with anyone as soft as she was. He loved that softness, craved it. Sinking into her was a contrast of sensations: the pillow-softness of her body yielded to him effortlessly and the tightness between her legs wrecked him. Instead of being bored, he wanted more of that dual feeling. He wanted it constantly. He traced her inner thighs with kisses. Soon she was squirming in pleasure. “You ready?” he asked eventually.

“For what?” she said, grinning.

“What this old man is bringing, baby,” he said teasingly. She shook her head playfully. “Oooh, somebody’s scared,” he told her. “You brought this on yourself, remember?”

“You,” she said breathlessly, “are too sexy to be real. Half the time, I think I’m dreaming you.”

“I’m real,” he said. “I’m right here. You feel that?” he asked, as he pushed inside her. “You feel me? That’s real. I'm real.” 

“Mmm-hmmm,” she murmured in his ear.

“I’m real and I’m not going anywhere,” he told her, rocking her pelvis slowly. He was being gentle tonight. She was tired, he knew.

 

 “What’s that look about?” she asked him suddenly, as they were entwined together later. He’d thought she was asleep already. “You look serious.”

“Dunno,” he shrugged, running his hand over her hip. He didn’t want to talk about feelings tonight. The moment wasn’t right. He had a sixth sense for right moments, Jack had always said, when they were in Hydra. She wasn’t ready to hear him ask her to stay yet. He needed to wait. His work had taught him patience, thank God. “You feel like a bath?” he asked.

“I could be persuaded,” she said.

“Take a bath with me?” he asked, more softly, kissing her neck.

They were relaxing in the warm tub when she looked up at him. “What’s wrong?” she said. “You can tell me, you know,” she said, half sitting up. “It isn’t the money you spent today or my hair leaking pink on you or something? Because we can return my presents?”

“No, no,” he said. “We’re not doing that. I’m having a good time. C’mere, don’t go anywhere.”

“I’m having a good time, too,” she said suddenly. She looked a little nervous. “A really good time and I, uh, I just wanted you to know,” she said.

“You wanted me to know?” he asked, touching her face.

“Uh, yeah, I hope that’s not weird?” she said.

“No,” he said. He coaxed her back down on his shoulder. “Not weird.” He could hold Asgard and the rest of her life at bay for awhile. He just needed to keep her near.

 

***

 

The next morning, Darcy checked her replies on the haircolor message board. Jack had texted her some screenshots of a color wheel, too, bless him. She was formulating--ironic pun, she registered--a plan for her next hair step. Brock had gone somewhere before she woke up. She assumed it might be for coffee, since it was 8am. He came back in and shut the door. “Hey, babe,” she said. “What’s the plan?” He was carrying coffees.

“No plan,” he said, sitting on the bed.

“No plan?” Darcy asked confused.

“Nope,” he said.

“Why are you being so mysterious?” she said. “Where are the cheaters?”

“Gone,” he said cheerfully. “I followed them to the ferry.” He sat his coffee down and went casually into the bathroom. “You feel like having some fun today?”

“They left?” Darcy said.

“Uh-huh, already called the client to tell her,” he said. “Once I write up the report and crop us out of the photos, the case will be done. We have to start packing, sweetheart. We got two hours until checkout. We can put all our stuff in the truck.”

“Wait, how did you know? Why won’t you tell me?” Darcy asked.

“How am I supposed to have any mystery if I tell you all my secrets?” he teased her.

“It’s incredibly annoying when you use my own words against me,” she said. She started to pack. Once they’d gathered all their things and Darcy had gotten ready, they left the hotel room. Darcy sighed a little.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I didn’t get to spend enough quality time with you on that very luxurious mattress,” she said, as they shut the door and went downstairs to check out.

“We’ll make up for it,” he said, as they got in the elevator. “What do you feel like doing today?”

“Let’s people watch at a cafe for breakfast and then go to Beacon Hill Park to see the ducks and the peacocks before we catch the ferry this afternoon?” she said. “I want to, like, laze and graze?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “I got a blanket in the truck, sweetheart.”

 

First, they had a relaxing coffee and pastries. “I like just watching people,” Darcy said, nibbling on a Danish corner. She’d ordered him a raspberry pastry thing as a surprise while was parking the car and he’d given her a quiet smile. “Is yours good?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. She thought he was being oddly quiet, but it could just be fatigue.

“I always said if I went to Europe again, I would do this,” she said. “Victoria is like Europe, weirdly.”

“Sit in a coffee shop with me?” Brock asked. He sounded amused.

“Haha,” she said mockingly. “No, I mean, I went to France once between high school and college with my aunt and uncle and cousins. We did a tour? Anyway, everything was scheduled. And when I was in London, we had work 24/7 and the alien elves, so I’ve always felt like things were always happening that I had to hurry for and I never got to sit and people watch.”

“We’ll do that today,” he said to her.

***

 

“I love peacocks,” Darcy said in a happy voice, as they sat in the park. It had a view of the strait and the mountains of Washington in the distance. “Aren’t they great?”

“Uh-huh,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t make it dirty,” Darcy said, leaning against him. He’d watched as she squealed over the ducks and gave them funny nicknames and did impressions.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said with faked grouchiness. He kissed her neck. She looped her arms around him.

“Feel like making more use of this blanket?” she teased. Her lowered her down gently and dusted kisses on her face. “Snuggle me?” she asked. He wrapped his arms around her and she tucked her head under his chin. He let out a breath as she talked. “What?” she said.

“Nothing,” he said quietly, wondering if this was what happiness actually felt like? Not a rollercoaster of highs and lows, like his marriage or his double life life in SHIELD, but a kind of rising tide of contentment that came from listening to Darcy chatter randomly about how Flannery O’Connor and Elvis had both raised peacocks. “Both of them, huh?” he said.

“Elvis gave his away, I think?” she said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Peacocks are hella territorial over the peahens,” she said, “so, they damaged his cars, pecking at their own reflections because they thought they were rival males?”

“That’s a nice metaphor for being a man,” he said, chuckling.

“Are you admitting to jealousy and possessiveness?” she asked.

“You picked up on that, huh?” he asked, stroking her hair.

“It’s something about how you sometimes mutter ‘mine, mine’ after sex like a sleepy toddler with a favorite toy,” she said, giggling.

“I might have a little jealousy left over from my marriage,” he admitted. He had a lot of memories of Gillian involving jealousy. “And you are my favorite toy, sweetheart,” he said in a more teasing voice.

“You want to tell me?” she asked. “About your marriage?”

“You want to talk about this now?” he said.

“If you feel ready,” she said. He snorted. It wasn’t so much being ready as it was the sadness of the whole fucking story. Brock felt sorry for Gillian. That was what Jack couldn’t understand. He’d kept Gillian’s secrets, of course, so Jack didn’t know all the details, but he felt comfortable giving Darcy the Cliffs’ Notes version of events.

“The short version is that we got into a bad cycle,” he said. “Gilly’s upbringing made her insecure in relationships. It was because everyone in the cult switched partners, you know? Her parents’ split was messy and back and forth, she had all these half-siblings by different parents. There was so much weird shit. Fuck, she had a twenty six year old boyfriend when she was fourteen.”

“Oh my God, what did her parents do?” she said in a shocked-sounding voice.

“Nothing, sweetheart. He moved in with them,” Brock said, shaking his head.

“That’s fucked up,” Darcy said. “It’s a crime!”

“Uh-huh,” he said, a note of bitterness creeping in. “I didn’t know when we got married, though. I just knew they were hippies. If I hadn't been so ignorant, I would have gone straight into therapy. But I was a dumb fuck. Did everything wrong. We got together quick, eloped, barely knew one another.  Well, right after our honeymoon, I caught her flirting with somebody at work and got upset,” he said. “It was actually, uh, Cap? I mean, intellectually, I knew she wasn't really interested and he wasn’t going to sleep with a married woman, but we were just back from the fucking honeymoon, you know? It was like being gutted.”

“So, you got upset?” Darcy said quietly.

“Like the dumb fucking macho Italian I am,” he said. “I yelled at her and she disappeared for a day or two. When she came back, I was wrecked. Waist deep in booze. I thought she was leaving me. She got a lot out of me needing her. That, uh, led to hot makeup sex.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “I’m not surprised.” He shrugged. “Oh em gee,” she said, “are you actually blushing and looking bashful?”

“No, no,” he said stubbornly.  He was not admitting to bashfulness. “The sex didn't fix the problem, though. That became our pattern: she’d flirt with people to get a rise out of me, I’d get upset, she’d bail, I’d either welcome her back or chase her. It became a toxic cycle. It got to be a thing where if I didn't pitch a fit when she disappeared after a fight, I didn't care. If I didn't get upset, it meant I didn't love her anymore. You have to understand, she’d been emotionally neglected, so, uh,” he said, rubbing his chin. "It's hard to explain."

“Is it? I don't think so. When you showed emotion over her flirting, she felt like you really loved her,” Darcy said quietly. “And that someone actually wanted her, maybe for the first time? Only she had to provoke you and then leave to get the response.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” he said. “Over time, it just got messier and messier. How’d you know?”

“I pay attention to people,” she said softly. There was something deeply sympathetic in her expression.

“Did you get your psychology degree from NPR, too?” he asked teasingly. He wanted to get back to safer topics.

“Maybe,” she said, squeezing his hand. As if she could read his mind, she changed the subject.

"Thanks," he said, kissing the shell of her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Butchart Gardens really does sell gelato in the Italian Garden: https://www.butchartgardens.com/everything-you-need-to-know-about-gelato-at-the-butchart-gardens/
> 
> Beacon Hill Park: https://hubpages.com/travel/The-verdant-Beacon-Hill-Park-in-Victoria---Vancouver-Island--British-Columbia


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy has a ferry godmother (in my mind, she's played by Drew Barrymore).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

There was a beautiful sunset on the ferry ride back. “Tell me how you knew they’d left?” she asked, as the sky shimmered pink over the strait. She smelled amazing, he thought. She was wearing the perfume that he’d bought her.

“Tell me where you were when you left the night I made you dinner,” he countered teasingly, nuzzling her hair.

“Maeve’s. She’s my CI,” Darcy said. Brock laughed. He laughed so hard that he shook.

“Okay, okay,” he said, “you wanna know the truth? You really want to know?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said.

“I bribed the desk clerks,” he said.

“You told me you didn’t do that! Liar!” Darcy said, fake-swatting him. He kissed her soft, warm mouth. Was now the moment, he wondered? He was trying to feel for his sense of timing.

“Hey,” she said, once they’d stopped kissing, “want to listen to some Lana?” No, he decided. Not the moment. He could wait. As long as she was near, he could wait.

“Sure,” he said. She popped an earbud in his ear, then paused to look at the view.

“I’m going to miss Canada,” she said, music momentarily forgotten.

“Me, too,” he said. “I had fun. Lots of fun.” He squeezed her a little.

“You enjoyed being that asshole guy, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Usually, I work alone,” he said. “So, I’m just trying to be inconspicuous and hide the cameras. A single guy with a camera stands out.”

“Less than a bickering couple?” Darcy said.

“Look around,” he said in her ear. On the ferry, there were tons of couples: older ones, younger ones, happy ones, tired ones, couples glued to their phones, even a woman shooting her husband a dirty look as she struggled to put socks on a wailing and kicking toddler. The husband was staring at his phone screen, too.

“I never really noticed,” Darcy whispered to him. “I was watching the ocean. And those people on their phones look so…”

“Miserable,” Brock finished, chuckling. “They look absolutely slack-jawed and unhappy as hell. They’re totally missing that,” he said, gesturing to the sunset. He handed her back her earbud and led her closer to the railing.

“I love that peachy orange color,” Darcy told him. “You know, Frank Sinatra loved orange? He called it the ‘happiest color’ and painted a lot of his Palm Springs house in oranges.”

“Where do you find these things out?” he asked. He smiled down at her.

“I read,” Darcy said. “It was probably _Instyle Home._ My mom loved that. Actually, it’s kind of sad. He had bouts of depression, so I always wonder if he was trying like, do-it-yourself color therapy at home? Trying to get colors around him and sunshine, living out in the desert in this house with walls like fruit? His daughter always talks about how he would have benefited from modern antidepressants, but he was just making do with what he had.”

“Yeah,” Brock said. “Aren’t we all?” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “You know, that’s how I ended up with Mr. Fishy? I was in a rough period. Just down. Ian and I were having trouble, we’d been living in Norway, all this stuff. So, Loki magicked him up for me. I don’t know why he even noticed me, much less saw I was sad or cared? But he saw it and sent me a goldfish. Who is also orange,” she said. “And probably the size of a house cat, if Thor’s fed him too much.”

“I think you’re a person lots of people notice and care about,” he said quietly.

“You’re sweet,” she told him, kissing his chin. “Mmmm.”

“Darcy, there’s something,” he began, but his sentence was cut off by a series of squeals twenty feet down the railing.

“Orcas! Orcas!” someone called. “Near the shore!” People were pointing.

“I’ll get you a photo, sweetheart,” he said to Darcy, towing her into the rapidly swelling crowd at one spot. He kept her anchored under his arm while he snapped a few pictures of the three black and white whales near a rocky outcropping. One splashed up in the air and the crowd on the boat ohhed and ahhhed. Then he looked down at her face. She was beaming.

“That’s incredible,” Darcy told him. “Just incredible.” They watched until the boat went farther away and the orcas grew small in the distance. He thought he could still see a shadow of darkness on the blue sea, but it might have been a trick of the fading light.

 

***

 

Darcy found herself getting weirdly overwhelmed on the ferry ride. Something about the whole afternoon had her all emotional and teary? They’d watched the orcas disappear and she’d felt a sudden flood of emotions. Brock was rubbing her back at the railing when she pretended she needed to pee. Instead, she locked herself in a bathroom stall and cried. She was blotting her eyes with toilet paper when someone stuck their hand under the stall door. “I’ve got cleansing towelettes,” a woman’s voice said. “They’re vegan?” she offered. For a second, Darcy thought it might be someone she knew, but she didn’t recognize the rings that this woman was wearing--multiple sparkly bands stacked on several fingers in a shimmer of rose gold and interesting stones--or deep purple nailpolish. Definitely a stranger.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, sniffling and taking the towelette. “I like your rings.”

“Thanks! They’re Luna Skye,” the woman said brightly. When Darcy opened the stall door, she was standing there and gave her a sudden, unexpected hug. Darcy registered the scent of a natural perfume and an apple cheeked, smiling face before she was squished into the hug.

“Um, thanks?” Darcy said, momentarily confused.

“A hug can turn your day around… It's like an emotional Heimlich,” the woman said. “Just let go of all your fears and anxieties, you know? Squeeze them out.” She looked to be in her mid-thirties, had ombré hair in waves, and a yoga t-shirt that said something about ahimsa. Nonviolence, Darcy’s brain registered (she’d dragged Jane to some yoga classes in an attempt to calm the scientist down; it hadn’t worked--Jane got weirdly wired after hot yoga and went on another Science! Bender) as the woman released her. There was something very approachable and warm about her, as if she was born to be a child’s favorite kindergarten teacher or that babysitter you adored.

“Emotional Heimlich,” Darcy said thoughtfully.

“I sort of stole that line from a tv show, _Pushing Daisies_?” the woman admitted. “I love daisies.” She wiggled her feet. There was a tattoo of rainbow-hued daisies on her left ankle.

“I remember that show! Cancelled too soon,” Darcy said. “I was so sad over how rushed the finale was. Your tattoo is very cool.”

“Thanks. I was so mad when they paired Olive up with _Randy_ in the finale,” the woman said. “I couldn’t stop fixating on how wrong he was for her. Olive loved animals!”

“The David Arquette taxidermist,” Darcy said, shuddering. “I blocked it out.”

“Very wise. You feel better?” she asked.

“Um, yeah? I appreciate the help,” Darcy said, going over the other mirror to wipe away her mascara streaks as the woman hopped up on the sink to apply lip gloss. Somehow, she was flexible enough to sit cross-legged in lotus. Impressive, Darcy thought. She should probably do more yoga herself. Maybe Jack would go with her?

“Boyfriend, right? What did he do?” the woman asked sympathetically.

“Nothing, really. He’s, um, great? It’s me. I don’t know what I’m doing,” Darcy said. “We saw the orcas, I felt weirdly overwhelmed, now I’m hiding in the bathroom. I don’t want to hurt him,” she said.

“Why? Are you afraid you will?” the woman said, putting her lip gloss away.

“Maybe? He’s been through a lot. I don’t want to ask him for more than he can give. I’m only here to work temporarily,” she explained. “Normally, I live somewhere else, so I’ll go back eventually. I’ll leave and, uh”--she got teary again--”we’d have to do long-distance? I don’t know if he’d want that? Really, I don’t know if feels the same at all. And he’s been left before.” The woman gave her a keenly assessing glance--teacher face, Darcy thought again--and handed her another towelette and a packet of eco-friendly kleenex.

“Are you scared?” she asked gently.

“A little bit, yeah,” Darcy said.

“Why?” she prompted gently. “Say it out loud.”

“What if I’ve got feelings he doesn’t have? Or even if we both do, it’ll never work,” she said in a trembling voice. “There’s no upside in telling him what I’m feeling.” The woman hugged her.

“Hey, hey,” she said. “It’s okay.” She patted Darcy’s shoulder.

“This is embarrassing,” Darcy said.

“Emotions are what make us human,” the woman said softly. “You should tell him.”

“You think so?” Darcy said.

“Yup,” she said.

“I’m all wrecked by this guy,” Darcy said. “It’s freaking me out.” The other woman grinned.

“It’s a great feeling, isn’t it?” she said. “Like jumping off the high dive or the downhills on a rollercoaster. Terrifying, but amazing.”

“I usually hate those,” Darcy confessed.

“I have a bad habit of running towards them,” the woman said, winking.

“Yeah?” Darcy asked.

“Totally wrecks my relationships, but I have great stories,” she said. “But if you don’t usually feel this way…”

“No, I don’t,” Darcy admitted. “He’s different from anyone else I’ve been with.”

“Hmmm, interesting,” the woman said. “Think about that one.”

Darcy nodded. The woman stopped for a second, looked at Darcy, and suddenly handed her a set of stretch mala bracelets from her arm. “Here,” she said, “take these, this one is rose quartz for unconditional love and compassion and cherry quartz for healing and clarity. They’ll help, I promise.” She slipped them on Darcy’s bare wrist. Her Loki bracelet was on her other hand.

“They look really expensive. Are you sure?” Darcy asked. One of them had a tiny silver heart-shaped bead between the round pink stones.

“Absolutely,” she said, smiling. She had a really nice smile. “I thought I needed them for a tough meeting with my ex soon, but it got cancelled today.  You should have them. It’s totally meant to be. I give mine away all the time, it’s good for your karma not to get too attached to possessions and my karma can get a little battered.”

“Have they worked before?” Darcy asked, curiously.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I have them all charged by a healer I know. I think my amethysts points saved me in a car crash once. I really need to start carrying rainbow flourite for my concentration. You probably think that sounds crazy.”

“No, I believe you,” Darcy said, thinking of her Loki bracelet.

“If you really care about him,” the woman said as she left the bathroom, “and you _know_ you do, take the risk. Who knows what could happen? Wonders never cease.” She winked at Darcy before sliding on a pair of aviators and flitting away.  “Good luck!” she said in the doorway. Darcy gave her a little wave and looked a little curiously at the bead bracelets now on her wrist. How funny, she thought.

 

“Hey,” Brock said, when she got back. “What happened?”

“I ran into this lady in the bathroom and we started talking. She had very cool jewelry,” Darcy said. “She gave me these? It was strange?”

“Where’d she go?” he asked.

“I dunno,” Darcy said. Darcy looked all over the boat, but she didn’t see the woman with the daisy tattoo, even as they disembarked. Had Darcy just being visited by a fairy godmother in a ferry bathroom, she thought? She had a ferry godmother? The pun potential was endless.

 

***

“Can we stop at a CVS?” she asked Brock as they drove off the ferry at Port Angeles. “It’s on the next street.”

“Sure,” he said. “What do you need?”

“I’m ditching my Kool-Aid hair, so Sophie won’t recognize me,” she told him.

“Really? It is noticeable,” he said, then sighed.

“What?” she asked.

“I was starting to like it,” he admitted.

“Jack’s agreed to help me,” she said.

“Why is Jack helping you?” he asked as he pulled into the drugstore parking lot.

“He helped me decide on the right color to cancel out the purple. I needed his color wheel knowledge,” she said. “Plus, he can make sure the back is covered.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said, amused. “Can I go in with you?”

“Sure,” she said.

He watched as she went down the aisle at CVS, holding her phone. “I’ve got notes from Jack about getting a clear shampoo and which colors counteract this,” Darcy said. Her hair was fading out to a weird magenta color. “I’m supposed to get at least one ash brown.”

“You’re not leaving this to a professional?” Brock teased. Her hair looked particularly bonkers under the fluorescent lights.

“I hear you smart alecking me,” she said. “So, I’m going to remind you that I don’t take shit when we’re off the clock. Not without retribution.”

“Yeah?” he said, slipping his arms around her. “What kind?” he whispered in her ear. “I can take a lot of punishment, sweetheart. Willingly.”

“Stop giving me naughty ideas, I need to focus,” Darcy said, prying herself loose after a few seconds. He thought she might have relaxed in enjoyment first. “Besides, Jack consulted an expert and had some stuff overnighted, too. We’re gonna shampoo cap some of the Manic Panic out.”

“An expert?” Brock said. Who the hell did Jack know? And what the fuck was a shampoo cap?

“Yeah, Roger’s sister is a hairdresser? He forwarded her some close-ups of my color last night? Nothing where you can see my face, though.”

“Good,” he said, relieved. He twirled a bit of her hair around his finger. “What are you going to look like when this is over?”

“Will you not like me without my Kool-Aid hair?” Darcy said to him. He thought he caught a flicker of something like doubt in her eyes.

“Oh, I think I’ll like you with any hair color, sweetheart, I’m just trying to use my imagination,” he said. “Redhead? Brunette?”

“Yeah?” Darcy said, grinning at him. He pulled her close in the aisle.

“Uh-huh,” he said, kissing her.

“You have a preference?” she asked.

“Hmmm,” he said. She would look good in anything, he thought. “No,” he said, shaking his head.

“You’re going to have to stop,” she said. “I need to do this tonight before I get spotted in Forks.” He groaned is dismay.

 

When they got back to the office with the bags from CVS, a grinning Jack was waiting. “You lovebirds have a nice trip?” he said.

“Jack!” Darcy said happily. “We had a great time. Also, the adulterers think Brock is a terrible boyfriend, I have to fill you in.”

“Hey, Jack,” Brock said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Darcy did great. You hold down the fort okay?” He really wanted to fall into bed with Darcy.

“Bonzer,” Jack said evenly. “I’ve got everything ready, love, if you want to start the bleach bath tonight?”

“Bleach bath?” Brock said. “You two murdering somebody?”

“It’s another term for shampoo cap,” Darcy explained. “I’m going to put on old, ratty clothes and I’ll meet you in a second, Jack.”

“Alright, Darce,” Jack said.

Brock and Darcy went upstairs to her apartment with the bags. “You want some wine?” he asked her, as she started pulling out hair color boxes. She was playing some music on low.

“Nope,” Darcy said. “I’m kicking you out now.”

“What?” Brock said.

“I’ll look awful, you can’t see it,” she told him. “I’m sending you away until it’s done.”

“You’re fucking kidding me?” Brock said.

“I want you to think I’m pretty, it’s a vanity thing,” she said.

“I do think you’re pretty,” he said, bumping her hip. “C’mon, baby, what’s the big deal?”

“No, no, you have to go, I don’t want you to see me again until I’m beautifulllllllll,” she said back.

“How long will it take?” he said.

“Hours and hours, probably,” she said. “Go.” She kissed him and he leaned in.

“You sure?” he said, nuzzling her face.

“Yes,” she said firmly.

He went back downstairs to write his report and crop them out of the photos. “Are you sulking, mate?” Jack asked, as he departed to help Darcy.

“No,” Brock said, scanning and cropping.

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“I’m going to make coffee,” Brock said flatly. “Have fun.”

 

***

Upstairs, Darcy had put on an old t-shirt and a pair of stained sweatpants and called Jane on the tablet. “Oh em gee, Jane, we had the most fun,” she said. “I need to tell you all about it. Here’s Jack,” she said, when there was a knock at the door. “He’s helping me with my hair. That’s why I called. We’ve got to decide on a color.” She let Jack in and shut the door. She thought she heard something downstairs.

“Your hair?” Jane said. “Hi, Jack!,” Jane said, waving.

“Hello, love,” Jack said cheerfully.

“It’s a long story. The other woman in our last case spotted me,” Darcy explained. “She’s local. So, I should switch hair colors, or she’ll pick up on the fact that her married boyfriend has a local PI firm following him. Is Brock killing a keyboard downstairs?” she asked Jack.

“He takes out his frustrations on his keyboard when he sulks, Darce,” Jack said with a laugh. They talked about the trip for a bit. Darcy did impressions of Asshole Tourist Brock that had Jack rolling on the floor.

“Anyway, I’m trying to choose between red or black as the next haircolor,” Darcy explained to Jane. “Jack’s sister-in-law is a hairdresser and she says we can strip this with a shampoo cap and color over it”--she pointed to her fading purple--”to get to a natural-looking red, if it lifts okay? Or I can just dump an ash dark brown-slash-near black over it without bleaching and hope for the best?”

“The green in ash based colors counteract reddish tones, so you end up with a neutral brown or black,” Jack supplied. “Hopefully. Whatever you want, love.”

“Red,” Darcy and Jane said in unison.

“All right, darl,” Jack said, “I’m going to start on the shampoo cap stuff. Regina gave me instructions.”

“Roger and Regina?” Darcy said.

“Their parents’ names start with R, too,” Jack said. “Ralph, Rita, Roger, Regina, and little Rob, who is now 29. It’s a family tradition. All Roger’s siblings have taken the good R leftover names for their kids. I’m afraid our kids will have to be called Ricardo and Renesmee to please my future mother-in-law.” He shook his head, chuckling.

“Oh, Jack,” Jane said sympathetically.

“Renesmee?” Darcy said in horror.

 

A shampoo cap was just a normal on-scalp bleach formula--bleach powder plus developer--diluted with clear shampoo to be gentler. You could use any shampoo, but Regina had recommended clear so they could see how her hair was changing more easily. Roger’s sister had also told them about another product that helped repair your hair as you bleached it. You put a capful in the shampoo cap formula. Jack had all the shampoo cap stuff, since he’d overnighted them from the nearest beauty supply store. Darcy had bought auburn and dark ash brown color kits at the regular drugstore. It was going to be a long-ish adventure. She regaled them with trip stories as they did the first round of shampoo cap stripping, shampooing the diluted bleach formula into her hair and letting it sit for awhile. She and Jack kept checking the color. Regina had told them what shade of pinkish it needed to lift to before they could tone with a warm red-brown to get a copper auburn. It could take multiple rounds. Jack, bless him, got her white wine as they sat around watching Darcy’s hair process. They unpacked Jane’s care package too. Darcy was thrilled by Steve’s drawings, Thor’s flash drive video of him reading Dr. Seuss to Mr. Fishy ( _Oh All the Places You’ll Go!_ could be surprisingly sad when read by a wistful Asgardian prince) and a surprise from Jane.

“Jane, I love you! Where did you find my favorite pumpkin spice cereal?” Darcy asked. “Three whole boxes and it’s only August!”

“Tony knows the man who owns the cereal company,” Jane said.

“Why is Thor sad?” Darcy asked, as she and Jack watched the flash drive on Jack’s laptop.

“Ughhh, I’m so mad at Loki for getting him to read _Where the Red Fern Grows_ , he’s been sad for two straight weeks. It makes him miss his hunting hounds on Asgard,” Jane said.

“Awww! Poor Thor Bear. You sent me Ann Hathaway!” Darcy said, shifting from sympathy to joy. “My second best mug,” she explained to Jack, “who is named for Shakespeare’s wife, because he left her their second-best bed in his will and nobody knows why exactly. It could be an insult or it could be that was their marital bed and the best bed was for company.”

“So, the second best bed might be sentimental or horrible?” Jack said, grinning. “Do you have a best mug?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “Her best mug stays here with us.”

“Because I promised everybody that I’ll come home,” Darcy said. “No matter what, even if it takes me a while.” Darcy felt a weird pang. She’d promised. She had a whole life in New York. A self-made family, as odd and makeshift as it was. Forks was just a temporary place, right?

“Darce, is the bleach too strong?” Jane asked. “Your eyes are a little watery.”

“Probably,” Darcy said. “It’s making my nose itch, too.”

“Oh, there should be some things from Loki down in there, too. He refused to show them to me,” Jane said. “But I made sure it wasn’t a snake. He’s been working on them since you left.”

“That’s a possibility?” Jack asked, horrified.

“He likes to turn into snakes to trick Thor into playing with him,” Darcy said.

“He’s only stabbed him once since you left, I think he misses showing off for you,” Jane said. “Even his magic is a little blue.”

“Figuratively or literally?” Darcy asked.

“Both. He filled the lab with blue smoke yesterday, but it was wispy and kinda….half-hearted? No glitter,” Jane said.

“I love glitter,” Darcy explained to Jack, “so he usually works it into his pranks for me.”

“Huh,” Jack said, “here’s something at the bottom of the box, Darce.”

“More emeralds?” Darcy said aloud. It was a smallish velvet box. That usually meant an emerald trinket. His latest gifts had all been delicate filigree brooches of floral patterns. Darcy had taken to pinning them to her scarves. She liked those; they were tiny and pretty. This was something entirely different. When she opened the box, Jack whistled.

“Christ Almighty,” he said. “That’s not a ring, it’s an island. Wait, there’s more boxes, Darce.” They opened each box in a row. Darcy’s coffee table sparkled with magicked up green and illusory diamonds. There was a ring, a pair of earrings, a bracelet, a brooch, and a necklace. A full set of jewels.

“This is too much, I’ll never wear these anywhere,” Darcy said. “Also, I think he’s just copied those emeralds of Elizabeth Taylor’s that went up for auction.” Jack did a few taps with his laptop keyboard.

“Yup, love,” he said, turning the screen to face them. “Exact copies.”

“They’ll look good with your red hair?” Jane offered tentatively.

“It’s ridiculous,” Darcy said, laughing. “Why does he do this stuff? Even Tony’s parties aren’t fancy enough for these. I’m not going to dress up as Elizabeth Taylor to bring you coffee, Janey. I don’t understand where he thinks I’d wear them, except Halloween?” She shook her head. “Oh, did I tell you about the real earrings Brock got me? They’re cast from actual shells and I love them. He thought Mr. Fishy would like them? It’s adorable.”

Darcy showed both of them her new shell earrings, talked about all the jewelry stores they’d visited, and about running into Sophie in the bathroom. “Brock was so convincingly horrible, I think she would have helped me get another hotel room,” Darcy said, laughing. “She thought he was awful.”

“You really think she won’t recognize you again?” Jane asked.

“Probably not. The hair color is so conspicuous, everyone jokes about it around here. I’m ‘purple girl!’ and ‘hey, purple head!’ especially to the truckers. Plus, Brock dressed me on this trip,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes.

“What?” Jane said.

“Janey, he packed all my camis and shells and tank tops like they were actual shirts and none of my sweaters or cardis and layer shirts that I never leave the house without. All I had was basically my undershirts and a jacket. I was America’s Breast Ambassador to Canada for almost a whole week. She’ll be looking for a purple haired girl with huge boobs out everywhere and totally won’t recognize a redhead in a shapeless sweater,” Darcy said, grinning.

“That’s totally true,” Jane said to Jack. “She dresses so modestly normally that when she wears anything revealing, people are stunned by how voluptuous she is. Tony always says her boobs are a stealth weapons system, because she hides them.”

“The only person who ever really noticed in my normal clothes is Bucky Barnes,” Darcy told the former agent, “because he’s spent decades checking out women in big fur coats? Or maybe his arm has a sensor? Those are my two theories. Steve just blushes and says no comment.”

“Bucky told Thor that he went to art school with Steve just to see the life drawing models,” Jane supplied.

“Yup,” Darcy said. “Decades of covert lady scoping out, I tell you. You probably had more layers to imagine through then, too. Outside of life drawing class.”

“Girdles,” Jack said, laughing. “He had to imagine naked women through girdles, Darce.” Talk of Bucky led back to Natasha and everyone in New York.

“Nat will be happy if you’re both redheads,” Jane said.

“I could go as her for Halloween,” Darcy said.

“I think you’re ready for the copper round now, love,” Jack said. He helped her wash the shampoo cap stuff out of her hair in the sink while Jane talked about Science!. Darcy left him in the living room, talking about the Great Barrier Reef, while she dried her hair for the final round of color. She hoped it turned out okay. Seeing her reflection--her skin looked oddly grey with the half-stripped color--she thought about an earlier idea. She asked as soon as she returned to the living room. 

“Hey, Jack, can I ask a weird question?”

“Sure, love,” he said.

“What color hair did Brock’s ex-wife have?” she said, curious.

“Blonde mostly,” Jack said. He didn’t sound fond, like Brock.

“He has an ex-wife?” Jane said.

“Gillian,” Jack supplied. It was like the Australian had gone suddenly cold and still.

“She was SHIELD, too,” Darcy said to Jane. “He, uh, told me they got into a cycle of having messy fights and reconciling?” That was as far as she felt willing to share in front of Jane. It felt too intimate.

“I wouldn’t say _they_ ,” Jack said quietly. “She did a number on him. I know it’s not politically correct to say, love, but she was the primary instigator in the breakdown of the relationship.”

“You think so?” Darcy asked. On the tablet screen, Jane was frowning. “He told me that she had a bad upbringing.”

“She did, but I’ve known people who had similar childhoods with hippie parents in rural Australia and they aren’t like this,” he said. “If anything, most of those people are more cautious, not less. They come out of those childhoods wanting something solid, something real. I don’t know what Gilly wanted.” He looked sad. “She was our friend first, you know? I think that’s what makes it so difficult. We worked with her. She was so charming and warm and sweet. Everyone loved her. I thought it was so great. When they first eloped, I thought she’d make him happy, bring joy into his life.”

“She didn’t?” Jane asked. Darcy shook her head sadly. She thought about how Brock implied Gilly’s decision to leave him after SHIELD fell was a surprise.

“No,” he said. “Only misery, by the end. I ask m’self, should I have seen the signs? She’d always had a bit of a risk taker side--she convinced some of the junior agents to put soap in the Trevi Fountain once--but she was a flawless field agent. Always cool, always calm. Stable at work, but not at home. We were deep in Hydra when they got married. She knew. He couldn’t keep anything from her. So, what did she do? Kept him emotionally off-balance all the time, pushed his buttons, practically drove him to a nervous breakdown.”

“How?” Jane asked, using the careful voice Darcy knew was for data collection.

“She started flirting with other men. Cap was her favorite target. It was a mess. Steve had rubbed some of us the wrong way when he joined SHIELD. He was standoffish, y’know? We invited him out, but he always said no. People got the idea that he thought he was too good to socialize with the likes of us,” Jack said. “He was so famous. Gilly would practically proposition him with a straight face. Say she’d meet him at such-and-such hotel at two-thirty within earshot of half of STRIKE Alpha. She thought it was a great joke. Everyone thought she meant it seriously and word got around that they were having an affair, even though they weren’t.”

“Because Steve was celebrity,” Darcy said, realization dawning. She could imagine it. Steve would have no idea, of course, but people would think something was happening because people did crazy things for celebrity attention. “And Brock was STRIKE Alpha commander,” Darcy said out loud.

“Right in one. He and Steve had bumped heads a little over chain of command when Steve joined up. Steve can be….look, I know he’s your friend, but, uh,” Jack said.

“High-handed,” Jane supplied from the screen.

“Exactly,” Jack said, sighing and steepling his hands together. “So, Steve and Brock have some, uh, professional tension already and then Gilly gets the rumor mill flying with affair stories. Everyone believed it was happening.”

“He felt emasculated?” Jane asked carefully.

“No, no, I think he would have forgiven her if she had been sleeping with Cap and she actually wasn’t. He was totally gone on her. But he had to go to Fury and tell him that, no, his wife wasn’t fooling around with the national icon. It was the Hydra guys we were worried about, you see? We had no idea if that meant Pierce saw him as a liability or as weak?” Jack said.

“So, they could kill him,” Darcy said flatly. “Because his wife might be slipping Hydra secrets to Captain America across the pillow.”

“Yes,” Jack said. He looked queasy. “Eventually, she stopped with Steve, but it was only after the ring incident.”

“She tested him,” Darcy said suddenly. “Everything was a test to see how unconditional his love really was?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, shaking his head. “It was hell to watch from the sidelines. I was always so scared he’d slip up, be tired, get killed, because of whatever was happening between them at home. He kept it quiet, you see, as much as he could. Fury would have pulled him out of service if he’d known the full extent of things. Gilly would disappear for days at a time. Then weeks. So, there’s Brock, wondering if she’s just gone again or maybe she’s actually dead somehow, maybe Hydra’s caught on, still trying to double agent between Hydra and SHIELD.”

“Jesus,” Darcy said. Her heart broke a little.

“What was the ring incident?” Jane asked. She was good with details, Darcy thought. She’d forgotten that already. She was too busy thinking about Brock.

“They were fighting once at a restaurant near the Potomac and she threw her wedding band in the water. He called in favors with all his old Navy buddies, got divers to go down, but they never found it,” Jack said.

“Was it expensive?” Darcy asked.

“Worse. It was a family heirloom. His only family heirloom. The ring belonged to his great-grandmother and then his grandmother. The great-grandparents were poor Italian immigrants. They had the wedding band and a gold cross for family jewelry, nothing else. His sister got the necklace and he got the band in her will. It hurt his sister’s feelings. They’d both thought it would all go to her, you know, so he offered it to her. His sister's hard-headed, too, she said no, that their grandmother had made the decision, so they’d honor it. Well, he gives the ring to Gilly, tells her all this, and five months later she throws the ring into the bloody river. Leaves him standing there and disappears for a week and a half,” Jack said. He shook his head and looked up at Darcy with wide, still-shocked eyes. “I can’t imagine doing that to Roger. Ever. Taking something that personally significant and just _throwing it in the water and disappearing._ ”

“Was his sister furious?” Jane asked.

“No, that was probably the saddest part. She called me and Roger at home one night, frantic with worry, from New York. Brock had gotten drunk before he called her to tell the ring was gone. Apparently, he was so guilt-ridden and weepy that she was worried he’d tried to kill himself. Roger and I found him curled up in a fetal position with a half-empty bottle of tequila. Kept talking about how he should have just given the ring to Teresa, they’d still have it, it was all his fault,” Jack said. “That he should have known Gilly couldn’t live up to the pressure of a traditional Italian family, that he should have given her something that it would have been okay to lose. He always blamed himself, not her. Still does,” Jack said.

 

***

Brock had fallen asleep on his couch, Darcy realized, when she went to check on him after the hair color circus had left town. He must have been watching a documentary about Joe DiMaggio. She paused and watched the television for a moment. Joe and Marilyn Monroe smiled from the screen. The images changed to a crying Marilyn leaving somewhere after their divorce. They’d supposedly reconciled before her death, she remembered, and were going to get married again. They couldn’t leave each other, not really. Darcy’s mother had always said she thought the worst fate in the world was loving someone, but not being able to live with them. Hadn’t DiMaggio had sent roses to Marilyn’s grave for decades? Was that true love? It looked like love, at least in black and white on a screen. The free-spirited starlet from the broken home and the athlete from the traditional Italian family. Darcy looked at Brock snoring quietly, covered him with a blanket, and left the apartment without waking him.

When she got back to her own apartment, Darcy shut the door quietly and leaned against it. She exhaled. Darcy felt shaky. The last thing she wanted to do was to hurt Brock Rumlow. He’d been hurt enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I am not a licensed hairdresser, so take all hair color-related chapter content with a grain of salt. I do not know if you'd actually get copper if you layered a warm red-brown over a faded, shampoo-cap bleached out purple. ;)
> 
> Elizabeth Taylor's emeralds: https://diamondsinthelibrary.com/elizabeth-taylors-bulgari-emeralds-and-diamonds/


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia and Emeralds and Johnny Cash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

Darcy had trouble sleeping that night. She got up, made coffee, and turned on the tv to C-SPAN. It sometimes helped to try and do something when she had insomnia. The effort made her sleepier than just laying in bed. She had too many freaking thoughts. She took Loki’s emeralds out of the care package and played with them as a distraction. Half the fun of his bizarrely elaborate gifts was surprising people by treating some incredible-looking emerald like Malibu Barbie. She’d once started playing with one of her necklaces like a lasso in front of a bunch of annoying academic scientists who’d insulted Jane. They’d gaped at her. She’d looked up, smiled, and said, “Jane is very, very well compensated, gentlemen.” They’d proceeded to kiss Jane’s butt for the rest of the conference, thinking she could give them grant money or get them in at Stark Industries.

 

“Hello, I’m totally impractical, but fabulous,” she made the necklace say to the brooch. “Look at all my swaggy diamonds. I have a detachable pendant, you plebs. I’m a perfect copy of something that sold for _six-point-one million dollars._ ” Jack had read that aloud to them last night. He’d found the information on the Christie’s auction page.

“I think Darcy should wear me everywhere! I’m fun!” she had the brooch chirp back. The brooch was a spray of diamond and emeralds in a flower pattern. It was probably Darcy’s favorite of the whole bunch.

“What about me?” the bracelet whined in Darcy’s Tourist Voice. “No one’s said anything nice about me yet!” Darcy held up one of the earrings in the light and let it swing. It sparkled like a firework.

“We come as a pair!” she said in a funny voice.

“A pair of troublemakers!” the other earring chirped.

The total auction price on all Taylor’s emerald suite was in the tens of millions, Jack had told them. And Loki had sent her perfect copies. The had the same weight and heft as real jewelry, the same level of detail. His metalwork magic was actually getting better, she thought. His early pieces for her had a slightly shimmery-ish mirage quality, when you really studied them. These seemed flawlessly real. Loki had made these to give to her. In Forks. Why? It was so weird the way his brain worked. Well, she thought, she should be less of a spoiled brat about it. He was trying. It was certainly better than snakes or treason. She imagined there might even be treason snakes somewhere in his magic repertoire. She dug around in her dresser drawer and found the perfect green and peach silk robe that Loki or Thor (she wasn’t sure which) had brought her back from an Avengers PR thing in Japan once. It was all embroidered with flowers. The emeralds would look perfect with this. She certainly didn’t own any real clothes this fancy. She put on the robe, then the jewelry and snapped a few funny selfies. She forwarded them to Jane--Loki, like Thor, eschewed cellphones--with a note about how well they went with her new hair. She asked Jane to show the photos to him and tell him she thought they were just stunningly beautiful, even if he’d committed intellectual property theft against the estate of Elizabeth Taylor or something.

 

She was still awake when she heard Jack moving around in the hallway before dawn; Darcy knew it was him because he always whistled “Waltzing Matilda,” hilariously enough. She cracked the door of her apartment open. “Hey,” she said sleepily, “how do you feel about the Johnny Cash cover of “Waltzing Matilda,” Jack?”

“Johnny Cash covered “Waltzing Matilda,” love?” he said in surprise.

“Yup,” she said. “I saw a clip of him explaining the lyrics in concert once. He said a jumbuck is like a cross between a large rabbit and a small deer? Is that right?” Jack laughed.

“It’s male sheep!” he said incredulous. “Was he joking?”

“I dunno,” Darcy said, smiling. “You think he liked pranks? Now I’m doubting everything Johnny ever taught me about Australia’s national anthem.”

 

As it turned out, Jack was going out to the Olympic to surveil Darlene and her latest beau. Darcy--still eager to meet the Zsa Zsa Gabor of Forks--decided to tag along. She’d let Brock sleep. She left a note taped to his door:

 

_Going with Jack on a Darlene job up in the Olympic._

_Get ready to start calling me Rusty or Lucy or something._

_XO,_

_\--D_

 

“You ready, Bluey?” Jack said to her from the foot of the stairs.

“Why do Australians call redheads ‘blue’ anyway?” Darcy asked.

“We like to be contrary in our nicknames. I have a six-foot-three, sixteen-stone cousin called Little Tommy Smith,” Jack said cheerfully.

“How many pounds is in a stone again?” Darcy asked, putting her toboggan on with her raincoat. She felt much more comfy in her usual layers, scarf, and hat. She’d decided to wear one of her little Loki scarf pins, mostly because she felt guilty for making fun of the Liz Taylor emeralds in front of Jane. Loki was practically her brother. He meant well, he really did. Maybe she could wear the emeralds to a New Year’s Eve party or something?

“Fourteen pounds,” Jack supplied. “Tommy’s well over two hundred pounds of muscle. Boxer.”

“Australians are the greatest,” Darcy told him.

 

She and Jack chatted amiably on the walk up the trail and Darcy snapped photos for Loki. It was drizzling rain and the whole national park seemed like a field of emeralds. “I can’t wait to meet Darlene,” she told Jack. “I hope she’s not a letdown.” Jack laughed.

“Don’t think so, pet,” Jack said. “She’s fairly extraordinary.”

“You’re right about this place being peaceful,” Darcy said. “It does clear the mind.”

“You worried about Brock?” Jack asked. He sounded careful.

“I don’t want to hurt him by asking him to commit to me if he can’t,” she said. “Especially if he’s, um, still in love with his ex-wife.”

“Yeah,” Jack said quietly.

“You think he is, don’t you?” she asked.

“I dunno,” Jack said. “I hope not. He seems happy with you. I hope he’s finally put Gillian behind him, moved on. Even if it doesn’t work out between you, I hope he’s done with her.”

“That is the question,” Darcy said, more to herself than Jack.

 

***

 

Brock woke up on the couch, took a shower, and went in search of coffee and Darcy and Jack. Not necessarily in that order. He smiled when he saw Darcy’s note. She was a redhead now. He wanted to see it. He imagined flaming red hair against that creamy skin. He could get used to that. He was descending the staircase when he heard a noise in the office. A chair squeaked. He drew his gun. “Who’s there?” he said.

“It’s only me, Brock,” a female voice replied. “I come in peace.”

“Gillian?” Brock said. He pushed the door the main office open slowly. She was sitting there at his desk, with her bare feet propped up on the top. She wiggled her toes. The rainbow daisy tattoo on her left ankle danced. She must have slipped her shoes off.

“Hey, babe,” she said, holding her hands up. She wiggled her hands, too, to demonstrate that there were no knives or guns. Her fingers were bejeweled.  “I’m unarmed, as usual.” He lowered his gun slowly. “I did make coffee though. Don’t worry, only mine’s almond milk.” There were two cups on the table.

“It was you on the ferry, wasn’t it? She’s calling you her ferry godmother. How did you find her?” he asked.

“I wasn’t planning on it, honestly. I was in Vancouver, so I decided to go camping on Vancouver Island with some friends, and then my mom wanted me to come see her in Big Sur. That’s where she is, now Big Sur with Gary. She says hi. She always liked you. So, I thought I’d swing by and see you again--”

“Again?” Brock said.

“I check on you and Jack periodically.”

“You check on me?” he said.

“Who do you think told Maeve she should move to Forks?” Gillian said, raising an eyebrow.

“You sent a fucking spy, Gilly?” Brock said. “A spy?”

“Oh my Goddess, you really think Maeve’s a spy? That’s hilarious. She was in the Fresno cohousing community with us during my mom’s third marriage. You remember? The one where Jimmy ended up having two other wives? He was the bigamist stepdad. She’s like my aunt. I just set her up with a little seed money, so she could fulfill a life dream of owning her own shop and I could make sure none of your old coworkers killed you, silly. I just told her to keep me informed if anything weird happened, so I could get Phil to bring backup if Hydra discovered Forks.” She stretched and yawned. “Can I drink your coffee if you’re not?”

“I thought you were vegan?” he said.

“I try, but I’m like at 80-20. My therapist says it’s more healthy to be less extreme,” she told him. “He gives me these little tasks where I have to be flexible about other people’s needs, so I eat lamb when people serve it to me and stuff.”

“Your therapist?” he said.

“Uh-huh. I’m working on my shit. I wanted to hike the Pacific Coast Trail like Cheryl Strayed, but Paul--my therapist--talked me out of it. He thinks I’ve done enough crazy things and I need to focus on contentment in small activities, rather than excitement, you know?”

“Yeah?” Brock said. He could understand Paul’s point of view. “So, you decided to follow Darcy into a bathroom?” he said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes.

“Sarcasm is a defensive mechanism. Maeve keeps telling me you’re the Grumpy Old Man and Jack’s the town favorite of Phil’s little outfit. Imagine my surprise when I hop on the ferry and there’s my grim ex-husband actually canoodling with a pretty girl. Darcy’s great, by the way,” Gilly said, smiling. “I like her a lot. Her aura’s good. She’s got lots of orange for joy and a really nice loving pink. I think she’s falling for you, she’s just afraid to verbalize it. There’s a smidge of yellow in her aura that possibly indicates fear? She needs raw flourite or something? I’ll send her some. Anyway, I kept thinking I knew her from somewhere and I was sitting there on the ferry and, _boom,_ I realize she’s Darcy Lewis from Puente Antiguo. The one who tased Thor. Phil still talks about her. ”

“Gilly, I know that,” Brock said, “what’s the relevance?”

“Do you realize you’ve got a lot of jealous green in your aura, even now? You should probably work on that. But I’m super proud of you for moving on with someone so cool. That’s why I didn’t interrupt. I didn’t want to intrude on the moment. She and I had a little talk in the ladies room and then I popped a wig on, so neither of you would recognize me,”  Gillian said.

“Gilly, if this is a game--” Brock began.

“No, look, I’m here to make amends, okay? I brought you something back from my last job in Boston. We found those weird black market Asgardian murals that foretold the apocalypse and Phil’s sending them back.” She tapped a small recycled paper box with her toes. It was sitting in front of her feet.

“What is it?” he said dubiously.

“Open it up,” she said. “I know it can’t make up for everything, but I’m working on it, okay?”

“Wait, how did you know about Phil?” Brock asked.

“That’s one of the things I wanted to tell you,” she said.  She took a deep breath. “I’ve been working for Phil since Triskelion. The grifter thing is just cover.”

“It’s cover?” Brock said, shocked and not-shocked simultaneously. It made perfect sense to him. Like a puzzle sliding back into place by itself.

“I’m happy to get Phil on the phone,” Gillian said. “He wanted me to go into fieldwork with you and Jack, but I knew we couldn’t work together anymore. I needed space to figure my issues out. But I still wanted to do the work.”

“You were always good at the work,” Brock admitted. “Why couldn’t you tell me? It never made sense to me that you would steal from people, even shitty people. That wasn’t you, not really. You’re the only person Fury ever recruited who didn’t carry a gun. You don’t even like to kill spiders.”

“I know. I saw that can of bug spray under your sink and I’m choosing not to comment,” she said.

“Gilly, the bugs here are like boats for fuck’s sake,” he said. She shook her head.

“They’re still living things. I’m not having our gun range fight again,” she said.

“You’d still benefit from knowing how to shoot one. What if somebody shoots you?” he said.

“Then it’s my time,” she said. “I don’t want death on my conscience. That was my only rule when Uncle Nicky recruited me, I wouldn’t personally carry lethal weapons.” He sighed heavily.

“I still think--” he began.

“I wear a vest on jobs now,” she said. “I’m taking more precautions. We’ve got a new lightweight kevlar. The rumor is that it’s Tony Stark’s. Have you met him yet? Did Darcy introduce you?”

“No,” he said, “Darcy just got here. I knew you weren’t robbing banks, dammit. Jack thought I’d lost my mind, but I knew.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d believe it,” she said, sipping her coffee.

“So why lie to me?” he said.

“You only let me go because you thought I’d broken totally and turned into a full-blown criminal,” she said. “Would you have let me alone if you’d known I was just tracking SHIELD’s stolen equipment and information and Hydra cells?”

“Probably not,” he said. He could admit that now.

“At the very least, you would have tried to boss me around,” she said. “You would have insisted on gluing yourself to me for my own safety and _blah blah blah_ , it’s our marriage all over again. You micromanaging and going all Alpha STRIKE on me and dragging me out of places instead of letting me work in my way.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “that I didn’t respect your skills more.” She grinned.

“Some of that is my fault,” she admitted. “I should have told you I was the most talented fake-grifter in SHIELD’s recruitment history before I took your pants off. We didn’t exactly establish a professional dynamic.”

“No,” he said, grinning at the memory.

“I let you think I was a regular baby agent because it was cute to see you try to teach me things I’d known since I was thirteen,” she said, grinning back. “You were thrilled. It was adorable.”

“Maybe you should have mentioned that Nick Fury was your mother’s ex-boyfriend and recruited you straight out of a graduate program in fiber arts because you could talk the cashmere off the goddamn goat, so you didn’t need a Glock to function in the field?” he said, wryly. She gave him a beaming smile.

“Oh, that reminds me, I gotta make Darcy a scarf,” she said. “Maybe I can weave some flourite beads in. You don’t think that’s weird, do you? Will she think it’s weird?”

“No,” he said. “Darcy won’t think it’s weird.”

 

He reached over and opened the little paper box. She’d probably bought him a damn healing crystal for his jealousy. He froze as he looked at the perfect circle sitting on the piece of tissue paper. “Gilly, I’d given up,” he said, feeling his heart leap. It was his grandmother’s ring.

“I didn’t stop looking. We found it last week,” Gillian said. “I hired someone--a specialist--to help me search last year. It had washed up somewhere and was sold in an antique store in Arlington. I tracked down the new owners and convinced them to sell it back to me.  We were just looking in the wrong place this whole time.”

He blinked back tears. “I never thought I’d see this again,” he said. “Thank you, Gilly.”

“I’ve always regretted doing that. It’s my big one,” she said. She slid her feet off the desk, stood up, and hugged him. “I wish I could take it back. I really do.”

“I know,” he said. “I remember your face as soon as you did it.”

“It was a shitty thing to do, maybe the worst thing I’ve ever done,” she whispered.

“It’s just a piece of metal, Gilly,” he said, kissing her forehead. “At the end of the day, it’s just a piece of metal.”

“Maybe for some people, but not for you,” she said, wiping her eyes with a ring-circled hand. “Even if I was furious at you for pulling rank and cutting me from active rotation and then trying to convince me to quit SHIELD to be a housewife.”

 

***

 

They’d been in the forest waiting for two hours when Darcy checked her phone. “Oh, no. No, no, no,” she said. “This is bad. So bad. I have to go call Jane. Where’s the nearest cell signal?”

“What’s wrong?” Jack said. He thought she’d gone a little pale. “Darce?” She handed him her phone. “What does this mean?” Jack said.

“Loki,” Darcy said. “Damn it! He was doing so good.”

 

There was a crawler across the CNN homepage: _Jewels from emerald suite formerly belonging to Elizabeth Taylor mysteriously stolen from multiple new owners, including the Saudi royal family._

 

“He actually stole them? The ones in your room are real? The real emeralds? Bloody hell,” Jack said.

“I think so. Oh God, I really hope we can sneak them back without him ending up in a Saudi prison. Would they really, like, cut off his hands for stealing?” Darcy asked, looking miserable.

“I wouldn’t want to end up in a Saudi prison,” Jack said grimly.

“I’ve gotta go, sorry I’ll miss Darlene,” Darcy said, standing up from the log she was sitting on. Jack joined her.

“I’ll go with you, love. We can catch Darlene again. I don’t want you getting lost because you’re upset,” he said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said. She took off in a march, Jack following behind her. Darcy could really hustle when the occasion called for it, Jack realized. As soon as they got a cell signal, she dialed someone.

“Where’s Loki?” Darcy said sternly into the phone. “Jane, have you seen the news? The _Elizabeth Taylor_ news? Tell him to get his ass here, pronto. I don’t care if Thor has to hammer him here with Mew-Mew. He better not be refusing? Okay. Oh, of course, he wants to see me. Sure. He knows how to find me, I’m wearing the bracelet. We’ve got to fix this.”

 

They hurried down the trail for ten minutes. Darcy spotted a meadow-like clearing and veered off the trail. “Where are you going?” Jack said, confused. Suddenly the drizzling rain increased and there was a crack of lightning.

“We can wait here,” Darcy said, the ends of her red hair blowing in the rain. “It’s shielded from the trail.”

“In the middle of a storm?” Jack said. His coat was whipping in the wind. There was another roll of thunder.

“That’s not a storm, it’s Thor!” Darcy said. With a great boom, two figures dropped into the clearing with them. Jack stared. He hadn’t been to New Mexico, so he’d only seen Thor on the news. He hadn’t really realized that Thor was, well, that bloody gorgeous in person. Even in a cape. Clint Barton had skipped some relevant details, Jack thought. Never send a straight man, his mind supplied.

“My Lightning Sister!” the hulking blonde man called joyfully. Darcy ran and embraced him.

“Big Bro!” she yelled. “I missed you.”

Jack saw that he was carrying something. Mjolnir. The hammer that everyone in SHIELD, plus a few forklifts, and assorted military equipment, hadn’t been able to lift. Next to him, a pale, thin man was looking at Darcy with an odd expression. Jack thought it blended pleasure with a smidge of guilt and a little worry. His long dark hair was glossy with oil and his fancy armor had a dull, bronze gleam. The antlers on his helmet were slightly alarming. This, he realized, was Loki. Silvertongue. The Trickster God. The Asgardian who’d led a Chitauri Army into New York and almost defeated SHIELD’s best efforts at containment. Brainwasher of Clint Barton and Erik Selvig, stealer of the Tesseract, aspiring Midgardian dictator for all eternity, and now….thief of Elizabeth Taylor’s Bvlgari emerald suite?

“Darcy, my darling, I am sorry,” he began to say. Darcy turned and charged him, like a tiny, furious bull.

“You asshole!” she yelled, slapping at his chest. He was too tall for her to reach his face. “If. I. Got. Caught. With. These. I’d. Go. To. Jail!” she said, punctuating each word with a an open palmed chest smack. He seemed unperturbed, as if this happened to him all the time.

“I’d break you out, of course,” he said, gazing down at her with a smile. “There’s nothing to be concerned about, truly. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” He snapped his fingers and his armor dissolved into a dark suit. It looked like Armani. Goth Armani, but still Armani, Jack thought.

“Nothing?!” she shrieked. “Are you actually high? You could end up in a Saudi prison!” He shrugged elegantly. Jack was momentarily distracted by the approach of Thor. Loki must have magicked away Thor’s armor as well. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt now.

“Jack of the Rollinses!” he boomed, grabbing him in a hearty embrace. “My Jane tells me much of you! We were quite concerned that you might still be a member of the murderous Hydra at first, but Jane assures me that you are not.”

“Uh, um, no?” Jack said.

“You are from Australia? I have heard much of it! A big, fine country of Midgard. I have wished to go. They tell me I would fit in there?” the blonde man said.

“Uh, well, actually, yes,” Jack said, looking at him. “You probably would.”

“I am fond of beer. Speak to me of this thing they call Vegemite? My brother enjoys using it in his jokes,” Thor said. “He once changed all the sandwiches in the Stark cafeteria and almost caused a middling riot. I was prepared for battle, but Tony of the Starks told me it would not be necessary. ”

“Yeah,” Jack said, slightly confused.

 

Darcy was still arguing with Loki. “It would only be jail,” Loki said, shrugging elegantly. He was elegant and a little haughty and indifferent, Jack realized, in the manner of a sleek black cat.

“Don’t make excuses like that, you think it wouldn’t hurt me if you were in jail?” she yelled at him. “It would! I don’t want you to end up in jail again!”

“It would?” Loki said. He smiled a small fraction. Jack thought he heard the Trickster’s voice go from idle boredom to happiness. Uh-oh, Jack thought, focusing his attention on the more dangerous prince. Darcy was still furiously complaining at him, but Loki had puffed with pride. If he was a cat, he he’d have been twitching his tail and blinking lazily in a sunbeam. Realizing that Jack was watching him, the Asgardian winked one blue-green eye, then looked back down at Darcy. His expression grew soft. The true meaning of the emeralds was rapidly becoming apparent to Jack.

“Please, please tell me that your brother didn’t steal a movie star’s emeralds because he’s in love with Darcy?” Jack said quietly to Thor. The blonde Asgardian clapped an arm around his shoulder.

“My Jane has conveyed to me that it is polite on Midgard to reassure others with the lies of white in matters regarding the purchasing of expensive items or the new cutting of the hair, but I cannot mislead you, my friend,” Thor said, in a slightly modulated voice. It was like a rumbling whisper. “He will have no other. She is quite unawares, however, and Jane will not let me tell her.” He sighed. “I have told Mr. Fishy. He is an excellent fellow for confidences. A true bosom friend.”

 

***

“Can you get us there faster?” Darcy said to Loki. “In a non-flamboyant way?” She was slightly panicked. What if something happened to the emeralds in her absence? For sure they were irreplaceable. She was going to freak until they were returned.

“Back door’d be best,” Jack suggested.

“Of course, darling,” Loki said to Darcy. She felt a wave of irritation. He looked too pleased with himself. “Take my arm. Agent Rollins, if you would be so kind, do take my brother’s arm.”

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“What possessed you? You were doing so well,” Darcy said, looping her arm through his crooked elbow. “I was proud of you!”

“It was only a joke,” he said innocently. “And you looked so well in them.” He sighed. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to wear them for a few weeks? We’d return them eventually. When you wore them before, you didn’t even know they were real, historical pieces of art.”

“I could have broken them!” she said. Darcy felt a rush of terror. What if she’d broken something this morning? “Oh em gee, I’m going to have a real panic attack,” she said. Loki tightened his arm around her.

“Whatever for?” he asked. A second later, he’d snapped his fingers and they landed with an _oomph_ at the back door of the office. Darcy staggered and Loki held her close for a second. “Are you all right?” he said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You do look lovely.”

“Stop doing that!” Darcy said.

“What?” he asked.

“Trying to distract me with compliments,” she said. She wasn’t going to be fooled by his slippery charms now.

“Are you distracted?” he asked, but she didn’t hear him. Thor and Jack had landed behind them with a thud and she’d jumped.

“Okay, everyone’s here, let’s go in inconspicuously,” she said. “You’re clients,” she said to Thor and Loki, “from out of town.”

“You’re very take charge at moments like this,” Loki said, as if this was a delightful fact he’d just learned.

“Asgard help me, I’m going to tell your mama, Loki Odinson,” Darcy vowed and then unlocked the back door.  “You two in first.” The four of them walked into the main office, Loki and Thor going in ahead.

“Darling,” Loki had begun, half-turned towards her and seizing her shoulder gently, when Jack spoke suddenly.

“Gillian?” he said in a shocked voice. “What in the bloody hell, Brock?”

“What?” Darcy said. Darcy jerked her head away from Loki and peered around Thor. Brock was detaching himself from embrace of the woman from the ferry. The woman from the ferry was Gillian? His ex-wife? They’d been hugging in the office. Or maybe more than hugging?

“Have we interrupted something, Agent Rumlow?” Loki said, his voice suddenly frosty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnny Cash's version of Waltzing Matilda: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KL4v7UrqcF4


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just one more bit of magic....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos :)

There was a frozen moment of awkwardness. Brock looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t make words. Darcy was simultaneously in the room and somewhere outside her body, thinking about what was going on as if it was happening to someone else. Once, when she was little, she’d been accidentally clobbered by a kid on a swing at the playground and there had been a moment of strange ringing and a sensation like she’d left her body for a second before the searing pain set in. This felt like that. She was floating and waiting for the pain to hit. Obviously, there was something still there. Between Brock and Gillian. She’d given Darcy those bracelets because she wanted her ex to be happy, Darcy realized. They both still loved one another. Maybe they’d both just realized it. Had that been what they were embracing about?

Gillian broke the silence. “Hi, Darcy,” she said. “I’m really sorry that I didn’t tell you who I was on the ferry. I didn’t want to scare you or upset you. I’m just here to return something important of Brock’s. Then I’ll be out of your hair.” She was trying to sound casual and reassuring simultaneously, but Darcy could see she’d been crying. Plus, she’d seen Gilly truly relaxed on that ferry. Today, right now, she looked tense. Darcy opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off.

“Oh, yeah?” Jack said. Darcy heard an edge in his voice. Well, Darcy thought, Jack’s gone straight to pissed off.

“She found my grandmother’s ring, Jack,” Brock said quietly. “She brought it back.” Jack looked momentarily stunned. Darcy hoped she looked less shocked than she felt. Loki and Thor were exchanging glances.

“She brought it back?” Jack said finally.  

“Darcy,” Brock began, but she cut him off. If she didn’t get out of this room, she was going to cry at some point.

“We can discuss this later,” she said, shifting into her ‘we’re in an emergency, it’s business time, I gotta rescue puppies’ voice, “because Loki has created a situation. I’ll let the SHIELD people catch up while the Asgardians come with me to retrieve the _stolen property that you will be returning very carefully and correctly, according to the law._ ” She pointed at Loki. “Are we understood?”

“Yes,” Loki and Thor said together.

“I will be going with them to make sure it is done correctly,” Darcy said with asperity. Loki looked chagrined and guilty, but Darcy saw his flash of a grin for a brief second out of her peripheral vision. He’d wanted that to happen. Attention-seeking behaviors again, she thought? Darcy had believed he’d grown past some of that.

As they wove past the other three, Brock touched her arm. “Sweetheart,” he said. “I know how this must look, but--”

“I really do have to go,” Darcy said. “Jack can explain. My care package was compromised. I need to handle this ASAP.”

“What’s happened?” Darcy heard Gilly ask.

“She thought Loki’d magicked her up some more emeralds, but they’re stolen. It’s uh, those emeralds from the news--” Darcy heard Jack’s voice as they left the room.

 

“Who is that woman? I thought he was in love with you!” Loki whispered to Darcy in a hiss that sounded almost venomous. They crossed the waiting room and went to the staircase.

“Gilly is Brock’s ex-wife,” Darcy whispered back. “It’s too complicated to explain right now.” Loki’s face turned strange; Darcy thought he looked off for a second. Had he just fractionally turned blue? Thor merely looked uncomfortable. Bless his heart, Darcy thought. Thor at least had manners. A distant part of Darcy noted that she’d have to tell Jane that Thor was learning some social cues, once she felt less like falling apart.

“I only wanted to give you a gift,” Loki said in a more normal tone, as they ascended to the second floor. “This terrible Midgardian dwelling is your new home?”

“Loki,” Thor said warningly, as Darcy led them into her apartment.

“I’m merely expressing concern that we have left her here, in this odd town,” Loki said, “alone, vulnerable to harm from outside forces, and with a man who has some _entanglements_ that are dishonorable to her.”

“Dishonorable?” Darcy said, as she gathered the boxes of jewels. She was carefully checking each one and putting them into a bag. Thor came and held it for her. She smiled at him and he beamed back. He enjoyed being helpful. Darcy always appreciated Thor’s innate helpfulness in high stress moments. The man tried.

“If he is not loyal to you, he does not deserve your affection,” Loki said quietly. He stood by the window. “There are the most oddly dressed individuals in this town.”

“But I deserve stolen things?” Darcy said.

“All jewels are stolen, are they not?” Loki said, shrugging. “First, ripped from the soil of Midgard, then sold in a dubious train of transactions, sometimes buttressed by horrific acts of human cruelty or owned by the unscrupulous and conniving souls who profit from said cruelty, cut and polished to hide their origins, and transformed into wearable symbols of feeling. I merely wanted you to have something truly spectacular and remarkable out of that Midgardian miasma.” He sounded bitter.

“Spectacular?” she said. Darcy deposited the last of Elizabeth Taylor’s beloved jewelry into the cloth bag Thor was holding. “That’s all,” she said. He nodded.

“Is it not wondrous to think that those are the same jewels that graced the neck of the most famously beautiful and beloved woman in Midgardian modern history?” Loki asked, with an odd note in his voice. Darcy looked at him sharply. This was not the Loki she knew. Usually, he was gleeful after a successful prank. He enjoyed his pranks and jokes and odd gestures of affection. Now, he suddenly looked drawn and weary.

“Give us a minute, will you?” Darcy asked Thor. “You can take them back with Mew-Mew, if you want or just go down and talk to Jack, whatever.”

“Stay with Agent Rollins and the other one, I will return them with Darcy,” Loki said coolly. “The safe combinations and vaults will require some delicacy.”

“I’m sorry about this,” Thor said to Darcy. “I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” she said. She waited until he left and then shut her apartment door.

 

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” she said to Loki.

“No,” Loki said, seeming to collect himself, “I am sorry to have upset you or disappointed you.”

“That’s all?” Darcy said carefully. “Your mother is well?”

“She is very well,” Loki said. “She sends her regards. My mother always asks after you.”

“That’s very sweet,” Darcy said. “I really like your mother.”

“The less said about my fa--Odin, the better, I suppose?” Loki said.

“Has he been difficult for you lately?” Darcy said.

“No,” Loki said quietly. He rubbed his brow.

“No?” Darcy said. “You won’t tell me what’s bothering you so much that you tossed your version of a crime sober chip right out the window?”

“I missed you,” he said quietly. “I had no one to talk to, nothing to look forward to...it was boredom, I suppose?”

“Boredom,” Darcy said. “Loki,” she said pleadingly, touching his shoulder. “We’ve talked about this, you know? I thought you were working on your illusion magic?”

“I felt very low,” he said quietly. “Too low for my magic practice.” Too late, Darcy remembered Jane’s statement about his half-hearted blue smoke.

“Talk to me?” she asked softly. “Are you depressed?”

“Are you happy here? In this town?” he asked suddenly.

“I dunno,” Darcy said. “It’s interesting, but I’m coming home. I promised Jane. I miss all of you in New York.”

“And what about him? That man Rumlow?” Loki said sharply.

“I don’t know what’s going on there,” Darcy, feeling a wave of emotion. She had tears welling in her eyes when Loki looked up.

“I’m sorry,” he said desperately. He held her hands. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to upset you.”

“It’s okay,” Darcy said. “It’s more him being wrapped around his ex-wife when we came inside today.” She started to cry in earnest. Loki held her as if she was made of glass and could break at any moment as she wept.

“Come with me,” Loki said urgently. “We’ll return the jewels together.” Darcy missed the venomous flash in his eyes as he gently cradled her head against his shoulder.

“All right,” Darcy said, “but I have to come back and deal with this tonight, okay?”

“Are you certain?” he said sympathetically. “I can make other arrangements? It would be possible to secret you far, far away, in a disguise, darling.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Darcy said. “I have to come back. I need to confront this now, head on. I can’t let it linger.”

“If you wish it so,” Loki said. He handed her a delicate embroidered handkerchief and she dabbed her eyes.

“This is pretty,” Darcy said, looking at the twinkling golden and peach threads in the filmy piece of fabric.

“It is my mother’s magic,” he said gently. “Keep it. I’ll get Thor and we’ll go to the roof.”

  


***

“Why would he do that?” Gilly asked Brock and Jack. “Steal Liz Taylor’s emeralds?” Jack hesitated. He didn’t want to say it in front of Brock.

“He’s in love with her,” Brock said. Jack had watched his jaw go tight when he explained about the emeralds. Brock had slept through that adventure last night and had no idea Loki had given her anything.

“Oh,” Jack said, “you know.”

“I figured it out,” Brock said. “You?”

“He looked entirely too happy when she said she didn’t want him to go to jail,” Jack said.

“So, they’re really the same emeralds?” Gilly said curiously.

“Oh, yes,” Jack said. “They’re stunning. We handled them last night when we were dying her hair.” He cringed. “I hope to God that we didn’t damage them.”

They heard heavy footfalls on the stairs. Thor emerged carrying a bag. “Within are the emeralds of Elizabeth of the Taylors,” he said.

“Really?” Gilly said. “Can I see them?”

“Gilly, no,” Brock told her. “The less fingerprints on them, the better.”

“Perhaps if one only looks at them, there is no concern for that?” the Asgardian suggested gently. With a smile, Thor pulled out the necklace box and popped it open for Gillian to see. The emeralds and diamonds glowed in the low light of the office.

“Oh my Goddess,” she said. “How did you not know something was up, Jack?”

“We thought they were copies,” Jack explained.

“Copies?” Gillian said.

“My brother’s banners are such a green and his magical arts include the workings of metal and gems. He is quite talented at magical object-craft,” Thor explained, taking out another piece to show her. The bracelet. “At present, Darcy is wearing one of his pins, crafted entirely from magic. It is an understandable error to make.”

“Oh,” Gilly said. Thor took each jewel out so she could see it. Gilly looked shocked. ”They’re amazing,” she said.

“They’re stolen,” Brock said sharply. “She could have been arrested.”

“Yeah, she let him know that, mate,” Jack said. At Gilly’s raised eyebrow, Jack explained that Darcy had said the same thing, only with more slapping. Thor grinned.

“My Lightning Sister is little but fierce, as with the heroines of your Shakespeare,” he said. “He knows his error now. She will not leave him in doubt.”

“Yeah,” Brock said. He’d felt Darcy’s businesslike brush off in that moment before she went upstairs. What if she was angry enough to leave him? Loki could hide her anywhere. Hell, Brock realized in horror, he could disguise her or sneak her to another realm. Brock would never see her again. He felt panicked. They needed to talk. Brock stood up.

“This is why he refused to show the gift to us,” Thor told Jack, “because I would have sensed it was Midgardian in origin, not magical. I should have been more suspicious of his secrecy, but I assumed he alone wished to surprise Darcy.”  

“Thor,” Loki said, appearing in the doorway. “We’re leaving. Bring the jewels. Darcy will return when we are done.”

“She shouldn’t be doing that,” Brock said. “Darcy!” he called. “We need to talk!”

“She is already on the roof,” the pale prince said. Loki gave Brock an icy stare. “I think you should concern yourself with sorting out your complicated domestic affairs, Midgardian,” he said haughtily, looking from him to Gilly with a gleam in his eyes.

“I will bring her back tonight,” Thor said quietly. “Be not alarmed, friends.” He gave Brock a sympathetic glance.

“Loki really doesn’t like you, does he?” Gilly said, once Thor had followed his brother. “He can’t actually kill anyone with a look can he?”

“No,” Jack said, “but his SHIELD reports talk a lot about knives.”

“Fuck this, I’m not just letting her disappear,” Brock said. He sprinted to the stairs and went for the roof. Gilly and Jack followed him.When Brock pushed the door open, Thor had already begun to swing Mjolnir into flight. Darcy was holding onto Thor’s neck. “Sweetheart, wait!” Brock yelled, but he was too late. They ascended at just that moment. His last glimpse of Darcy was her sad, tear-stained face looking down before they both vanished. Loki, still standing on the roof, grinned with venom.

“Sorry, Midgardian, you seem to have missed your moment,” he said with a kind of languid cruelty. Then he disappeared.

“Fuck,” Brock muttered, “fuck.”

 

***

Getting out of Forks improved Darcy's mood. Thor acted as the muscle and the lookout during their un-heist adventures. Darcy felt surprisingly safe as she snuck around, returning the emeralds to their various owners. Loki was working hard at cheering her up. _Whoosh_ , they were in New York, inside a darkened bank, putting the necklace in a vault. “Aww, what a boring place for her to live,” Darcy said.

“Are you sure she wouldn’t prefer a brief vacation?” Loki said wickedly.

“That’s the very definition of a terrible idea,” Darcy said.

“Still,” he said. He moved his fingers slightly. The necklace gleamed around her neck. “She could meet Jane?” he offered.

“Nope,” Darcy said, peering down and shaking her head. He’d also magicked her into a golden gown. “Wait, is this an important costume?” she asked. It looked familiar.

“Miss Taylor may or may not have wore it in the procession into Rome scene of _Cleopatra_ ,” he said. Darcy groaned.

“Put it baaaaaaack,” she said, grinning in spite of herself.

“You are smiling,” Loki said. “You cannot deny it!”

“Okay, yes,” Darcy said, wiggling a little. “I’m in a bank vault in Liz Taylor’s emeralds and _Cleopatra_ dress, the end of the night is much better than the beginning.”

“If you’d like, I can make that man regret he was ever born,” Loki said, as he put away the necklace. “For many, many hours. Asgardian torture is quite elaborate.”

“Behave,” Darcy scolded. “And take me to see Jane!”

 

She and Jane had a wonderful, but too-brief reunion. The Avengers were on a call out near the Canadian border. “Tell everyone I love them,” Darcy said, hugging Jane tightly. She kissed the side of Mr. Fishy’s tank and he bubbled at her. “He’s doubled in size,” she whispered to Loki.

“I will take away my brother’s fish flake privileges,” Loki said, offering her his arm to depart.

“I don’t believe you,” Darcy said. “You think this is funny!”

“Yes,” he said. “I lied just now.”

“Jane, help!” Darcy wailed.

“But Thor loves Mr. Fishy,” Jane said. “He’d be so sad.”

“Fiiiiiiine,” Darcy said. “I love you, Janey!” she called as they departed in a fantastic swirl.

 

“Watch this,” Loki said, as he magicked open a safe within a massive London mansion. Everyone appeared to be out. Darcy wasn’t asking too many questions. He snapped his fingers and the brooch returned to its spot.

“Goodbye, darling,” Darcy whispered. “She was my favorite,” she told Loki.

“Ah,” he said. His voice sounded thoughtful. “Perhaps you would like a copy?”

“Only a copy!” Darcy insisted. “But, yeah, I would.” She blushed and Loki looked pleased. However, Loki grew more glum as they returned the last jewels--the bracelet--to a vault in Switzerland. “You okay?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. But he was too quiet.

 

***

 

“I don’t understand what’s wrong, Loki?” Darcy asked him, once they’d returned to Forks in the middle of the night. She’d asked for some time to talk to him. Thor had cheerfully gone downstairs to say goodbye, but Loki looked absolutely defeated. He was pacing in her living room. “I had a good time. Did you use too much magic tonight?” she asked him.

“Do you really not see?” he asked. He had paused momentarily by the window, but he turned to look at her. “Why I wanted you to have those jewels?”

“Not really?” Darcy said. “It’s not like I need them.”

“But I wished them for you,” he said. “Don’t you know?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t. I was perfectly happy with your magical gifts. You know that Mr. Fishy is my favorite thing out of every present I’ve ever received. I wear my brooches, too. I still don’t understand why you did it.”

“He is your favorite?” Loki asked, sounding surprised. His glum expression wavered. His eyes dropped to the brooch on her scarf. “Truly?” he asked.

“Yes, which is why I cannot imagine what possessed you to risk everything--your safety, mine, all the trust you’ve built with your brother and Tony and everyone--for those jewels. Why?” Darcy said. She was determined to be serious now. “What has gotten into you?” She crossed the room and stood in front of him. At first he avoided her glance, but then he faced her suddenly and spoke in a burst.

“I missed you!” Loki said, gesturing in frustration. “The absurd Midgardian bureaucrat stole you away on his Bus and I was upset! Then you became involved with _that_ man. Who is so crude that he cannot be left alone with his former wife for five minutes without devolving into a rutting barnyard animal.” His voice was waspish and scornful. He paced in a circle and she turned to follow his anxious-looking movements.

“Are you serious?” Darcy said, shocked. He sounded actually jealous of Brock. Loki, jealous?

“You doubt my sincerity?” Loki asked her. “You doubt _me_.” He worked his jaw. “You doubt me,” he repeated. “Have I been so obscure? I thought my feelings were plain. Every moment, I thought you would tease me about my transparency, my artlessness.”

“I don’t understand,” Darcy said.

“Must I flay myself open and hand you my beating heart before you see that I wish to be with you? That I love you?” he asked.

“Loki, this is not funny,” Darcy said. “If this some sort of prank, I swear, this is the absolute worst time…”

“I should have spoken sooner,” he said. He dropped on one knee and held his hand out to her beseechingly. His blue-green eyes were wide and open. She looked down at him and he gave her a look of such blinding sincerity and rawness that she was almost convinced it wasn’t a joke. Darcy watched the expressions cross his face in a flurry. He looked like someone had unmoored him. First, there was a flood of indeterminate emotions, like he was cracking open something long hidden and closed inside himself. A myriad of things seemed to be happening, all at once.  Darcy thought he might lose control and actually weep. Then, he appeared to pull from some secret wellspring of resolve and steadied himself. Hope flickered in his eyes. “Give me one word of encouragement,” he said gravely. “One, and I’ll wait as long as you need.”

“You really mean it,” Darcy said. It was less a question than a statement.

“Yes,” he said intensely.

 

***

Downstairs, Jack heard what sounded like pacing and raised voices above them. Thor looked up.

“All right,” Brock announced, “I’m going up there.” He stood up from his chair, but Thor clapped him on the arm.

“No, please,” Thor said, hoping to prevent an altercation that might involve guns, snakes, and knives. “I will go and retrieve my brother,” he said. “Then we will leave and trouble you no longer.”

 

The Asgardian climbed the stairs alone and came to Darcy’s apartment door. He was just about to push the door open when he heard Darcy speak in an emotional voice. He listened to his brother’s reply with a growing smile and then stepped away from the door. He would give them time alone. He went and stood sentry at the head of the staircase. No one would disturb them at this crucial moment. Sometime later, Jack came upstairs and said goodnight to him.

“Brock’s still down there, but he’s not long for the world. Be asleep at his desk soon,” Jack said. The two exchanged warm goodbyes.

  


***

“Loki, what are you offering me?” Darcy asked. She thought he might actually be serious, which shocked her. Loki? He beamed at her and began trying to convince her of the merits of his suit in earnest.

“I could take you away from here. You would be safe from Hydra in Asgard, Jane could visit you whenever she liked, even Mr. Fishy could go with you. Everything you could ever want, I could provide,” he said. He was talking quickly, as if he could fix everything with a kind of manic energy.

“I wouldn’t be safe from your father’s disapproval,” she pointed out. Odin had pitched a fit about Jane and she was a brilliant scientist with good credit, excellent bone structure, and 20/20 vision. “He’ll have a literal cow when you bring home a mere lab assistant from Midgard to meet the parents. Also, I’m short and near-sighted. You’d be banished for all eternity,” Darcy said, trying to break the spell he seemed to be under.

“I don’t care,” Loki said, laughing gleefully. “He can disapprove all he likes. My mother finds you charming and her approval is the only approval I desire,” he told her.

“So, in this plan of yours, I move to Asgard and do what? Just hang out? Play the harp? Wait for you to be de-exiled?” Darcy asked. Had he really thought this out?

“Well,” he said, “I would visit you, of course. My mother has half-convinced my father to let me return, anyway and if my bri--beloved was on Asgard, she would be more persuasive with my father. My mother would be delighted to have you. Thor would be, too. You are popular with the warriors since you tased my brother, so they would give you no trouble. And there would be plenty we could do together. And if I was absent,” he said, “you could always work on learning about Asgard? Politics, social issues, ceremonial functions?”

“Like weddings?” she said. She was teasing him; she’d caught the verbal lapse. Was he seriously thinking they’d get married? It boggled the mind to imagine it.

“If you like,” he said. Darcy realized that Loki Odinson could actually blush.

“Loki, it cannot be that easy,” Darcy said. “I’ve seen Jane and Thor up close. They are constantly apart. You know. It would be difficult. I’m afraid you’re tricking yourself.” His smile dimmed a little.

“Is that your sole concern or does that man factor into your decisions?” he asked quietly.

“I have no idea where he and I are at the moment, but even if he disappeared tomorrow, I think I might still be a liability for you if you want to make a life in Asgard. Especially a life of, uh, leadership?” she said, trying to be diplomatic. She continued, trying to sound reasonable, yet be kind. “I’m an outsider. You’d be better off politically with someone who is from Asgard. An influential Asgardian family, probably. A Sif, not a Darcy,” she told him, walking a little as she thought it out. He scoffed.

“It matters little,” he said.

“Loki, don’t try to brush this under the rug. It would be more challenging for you to bring home a girl from Midgard than Thor because of your...unique bio-parent situation?” she said carefully. “Any girl, but I’m not even that impressive a person.”

“I want to be with the one person in the Nine Realms who cares enough about me to phrase that so delicately,” he said dryly. “That is impressive enough for me.”

“I just want you to think through what you’re saying,” she told him. “I majored in political science, I know how dynasties and questions of succession work.”

“You think I still want to be king?” he said softly.

“I’m afraid if you married me instead of someone with more political juice on Asgard, you’d lose the opportunity forever and that might hurt you in some deep way. The last thing I want to do is make your life more difficult,” she said. This was true. Even if she’d never met Brock, she’d have these worries about being with Loki. Not to mention the whole can-change-appearance-at-will bit.

“That is your primary objection?” he asked. “You think you are the problem? You?” He laughed.

“I’m not?” Darcy said. She remembered the hairy eyeball that Odin had given Jane. He’d been, in the words of one former American president, “a major-league asshole” to Jane. Contemptuous. Rude. Dismissive.

“I am half-Frost Giant and you are worried that you cannot help me politically?” he said, in a voice that blended astonishment and delight. “You should be afraid of me!”

“I’ve never been afraid of you!” Darcy insisted. “Well, yeah, okay, there was that one time that you set the lab on fire, but I know that was an accident. I’ve never thought your bio-parents were anything bad, you know that. That’s totally racist bullshit.” He smiled at her with evident affection.

“You will consider my offer then?” he asked. “I do not expect you to answer now.”

“I will,” Darcy said. How could she not? It was Loki, being serious and seriously romantic. Maybe. Darcy wasn’t sure this wasn’t a momentary lapse on Loki’s part. Temporary insanity. He’d probably change his mind in twenty-four hours. But Darcy found it oddly...flattering to consider?

“This is the most I can ask of you,” he said intensely. He kissed her hand, then he paused suddenly. “Do you know how few people really care about me?” he asked. “Where my brother is duty-bound, I am selfish,” he said. “I would put you before Asgard in every way. You would be the envy of Jane for all the attention I would give you.”

 

Darcy sighed. This was exactly the kind of thing aspiring kings shouldn’t be saying to their (alleged? potential?) Midgardian bits of stuff. He’d drape her in emeralds and turn her into the Marie Antoinette of the Nine Realms or something? Heimdall would probably be forced to exile them both after mass outrage and they’d be in dire straits. Loki would make a terrible waiter on Earth. He’d never refill anybody’s water. They’d end up in a ramshackle house in New Mexico, sniping at each other. She could handle poverty, but she thought it might wear on him. He enjoyed luxury. Darcy imagined the little blue hellions they’d have would be a handful, too. What havoc could her genes and his do in combination? Fake ID-making pyromaniac children who inherited Asgardian weaponry from granddad and declared war on the neighbor kids for stealing their Pop-Tarts? Loki would spoil them rotten, probably, because his father had been so distant and withholding. It would turn Darcy into one of those exhausted, nagging moms. On the other hand, Brock Rumlow probably wasn’t interested in children, was he?

“Darling?” Loki prompted softly.

“Just give me some time, okay? And you need to seriously consider the implications, too. Talk to your mom, please? She can help you see things realistically,” Darcy told him. Frigga would understand how challenging it would be, Darcy thought, and could maybe give him a better idea of what he would be giving up if he did actually want to be with her or any other Midgardian woman. Especially if things went belly-up with Odin. She wasn’t sure Loki really wanted to give up everything. Could Odin even strip him of his magic? He’d stripped Thor of Mjolnir. Taking his magic would break Loki, Darcy knew.

“You are too naturally modest,” Loki told her softly. “You do not see that you deserve everything I could give you. We could go anywhere, do anything.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she told him. “Romantic, but ridiculous."

“But you are smiling again,” he said. “Tell me you do not enjoy our mischief.”

“Okay,” she admitted, “we have a great time, but what if we’re in exile together? Would you be happy then? Poor and maybe even powerless? I remember how lost Thor was.”

He scoffed. “My father cannot strip me of my magics, because they are my mother’s teachings,” he said. “He does not understand that work, because it is a woman’s talent.”

“I don’t want to test that theory,” Darcy said. “Your daddy has one hairy eyeball.” He laughed wildly.

“I have no fear of his disapproval when the reward is so great,” he said, gazing at her.

“Yeah, that’s what worries me. It’s totally your bad decision-making pattern, Lokster. C’mon,” Darcy said. “Go back to Jane. I want her to be safe, too.”

“Yes,” Loki said. She led him to the hallway. Oddly, Thor was standing there, as if he’d been waiting. Darcy thought he looked….happy?

“I want you to think seriously about the downsides of what you’re asking,” she told him. “This is the most significant decision of your life, aside from all the treason-y ones,” she said.

“I know,” he said, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes. He was equal parts pleased and shy that she could even consider it, Darcy realized.  Ever since she’d told him that she was unafraid of him, he’d been glowing like a pearl. She hadn’t realized luminousness was one of his magicks.

 

On the roof, Darcy hugged Thor goodbye and then turned to Loki. Thor, likely sensing that something was afoot, wandered over the roof’s edge to give them some privacy. “Please be careful,” Darcy told Loki.

“I will,” Loki said. He held his arms out to her and she stepped into them tentatively. He was not normally a hugger. But Darcy felt oddly protected. He was doing something with magic, she realized, to give her the warm fuzzies.

“What are you doing?” Darcy said.

“You must comprehend,” he whispered softly in her ear, “that for you alone, I dream and plan.”

“Loki Odinson, you stole that line from Jane Austen! Stop stealing from my favorite iconic women,” Darcy said, pulling back a little to see his face. She was torn between the urge to laugh and the strangest urge to weep onto his shoulder. “I can feel you trying to magic me up,” Darcy said. He grinned.

“Magic you up?” he said, holding her hand and looking down, half-boyish, half-sly.

“Are you denying it?” she asked. He shook his head.

“I need you, Darcy Elizabeth Lewis, for my last, best trick. I still have one left,” he said. Then he stepped back. “C’mon, brother!” he called to Thor.

“You’re not going to tell me the trick?” Darcy said.

“I’d like to turn into someone who could make you happy,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her hand. The moment he did so, she started to shimmer. It was some sort of protective spell, she realized. “Be safe,” he said. “Don’t linger in this odd place.” He looked around the roofline at Forks.

“I will,” she said. She waved at him and Thor, then moved back towards the roof door.

“Darcy!” Loki called suddenly.

“Yeah, my dude?” she asked.

“Just one more!” he yelled and snapped his fingers. Thor grinned.

“Nice work, brother,” he said, vaulting into the sky with Mew Mew. Loki flashed her a smile, then disappeared.

“What did you dooooooooo?” Darcy called into the emptiness. Then she looked down at herself. He’d magicked her into what looked awfully like a white dress from an old movie and some stunning diamonds. “These better all be copies!” she yelled into the sky.

 

***

Brock Rumlow had been sitting alone in the half-dark since Jack went to bed, spinning his grandmother’s ring and thinking. Gilly had departed Forks for her next job with Phil. Brock was happy that she’d found the ring, but more happy that she seemed on the right path in life. But how could he make Darcy understand that what she’d seen didn’t threaten what they had? He sipped his beer and tried to find the words. He wrote a few lines on a legal pad and crossed them out in frustration. Eventually he fell asleep.

A noise woke him and he sat up in his chair. There was something white in the darkness of the hallway. “Darcy?” he said. The image swimming in his sleepy eyes resolved itself: she was standing at the edge of the doorway in a strapless white dress. Diamonds glittered around her throat and wrists.

“Hey,” she said, leaning against the doorframe tentatively. “Did I wake you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm imagining Darcy's dress and necklace as the ones Grace Kelly wears in To Catch a Thief. Copies, of course: https://pin.it/dsx3osqbgzce6e


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> File Fixation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! I appreciate all the kudos and comments!

Brock rubbed his face blearily. “I’m glad you’re back. Everything go okay with the emeralds?” he asked hoarsely. He’d felt a rush of relief when he realized she wasn’t a vision or a dream.

“More or less,” Darcy said, still leaning against the door frame. “We got them all back to their little vaults.” She hesitated. “Where is Gilly?”

“She left on a Bus job,” he said. “She actually works for Phil now. Always has. The grifter thing was complete bullshit they invented together to get me thinking she’d gone AWOL.” He shook his head in amusement.

“How do you feel about that?” Darcy asked quietly.

“Relieved she’s got somebody like Phil watching her back and happy she’s not robbing banks,” he said. “Darcy?”

“Yeah?” she said, flicking a wave of red hair over one shoulder. It looked good, he thought. Really fucking good. God, he was crazy about her. She seemed to be avoiding his gaze, though.

“I, uh, look, I know,” he began, but she cut him off.

“Oh, for freaking sake, just tell me if you’re back together!” she yelled.

“Fuck no,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, evidently surprised. “Good.” She looked as if she’d expected him to say yes instead of no.

“Yeah, I agree,” he said, grinning.

“Did you want coffee?” Darcy asked, looking suddenly nervous. Why was she nervous?

“Sure,” he said, watching her seem to glide into the office kitchen in a swirl of white fabric. “Why are you dressed like that?” he asked.

“Chiffon and the diamonds are Loki’s idea of a joke, I think,” Darcy said. He smiled as she swished the skirt a little. She did look gorgeous, he thought. The Asgardian asshole had pretty good taste in women’s clothes and jewelry. She _was_ a vision.

“He thinks it’s funny to dress you like Rita Hayworth?” Brock asked quietly. Darcy had been playing lots of TCM in Forks; he’d picked up some things.

“Possibly, but I suspect it’s more complicated. I think the joke’s on you,” she said, pouring water into the coffee reservoir. “He wants you to feel inadequate in the face of his gifts. Metaphorically and literally.”

“Yeah,” Brock said wryly. “Not news to me. Thor showed us the emeralds. They were...something. Bet you would have looked good in them.”

“I took selfies when I thought they were fakes,” she said. He noticed she shivered a little. “I can’t believe he was stupid enough to pull that stunt.”

“He’s in love with you,” Brock said. She didn’t reply immediately.

 

Darcy brought the coffees over, pulled Jack’s chair to the other side of Brock’s desk, and sat down, sighing. “Speaking of that….I have Loki news,” she said.

“What?” Brock said.

“He sorta proposed to me tonight? He says he’s in love with me, wants me to come to Asgard, learn ‘ceremonial’ customs,” she said, making air quotes with her fingers. “Almost slipped and called me his ‘bride,’ actually,” she said.

“What the fuck?” Brock said, sitting up.

“Calm down, jealous box. I didn’t say yes, I only told him I would consider his offer of affection,” she said.

“You told him you would consider it?” Brock said sharply. “What the hell, Darcy?”

“It’ll never happen,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re more likely to see Heimdall breakdance on _America’s Got Talent_ than Odin let Loki marry me, even if we were madly in love. Loki will try to get Frigga to work on Odin, Odin will pitch a hissy fit of epic freaking proportions, and threaten Loki’s powers if he so much as looks at me sideways. Odin loathes _Jane._ Jane, the stunningly beautiful, accomplished, scientist-slash-genius with a doctorate and a _TIME_ magazine cover.”

Brock stared at her. Darcy seemed to take that as encouragement to go on.

“So, he would never, ever tolerate a mere lab assistant as a daughter-in-law. Loki can’t live without his powers. It would destroy him to give up magic. He’ll realize that once his mama talks to him. He should probably marry a nice Asgardian girl from a good family, if he wants Odin’s approval. Which he totally does, even if he denies it. I’ve always thought there might be something with Sif, but the problem with that is that she’s had to suppress her entire sense of humor to be taken seriously as a lady warrior and it’s made her really uptight. Jane says she sees that with female academics all the time? The criticism from reviewers, students, panel committees, it all makes the women much more serious than the men. Women in male-dominated environments can’t afford not to be taken seriously if they want to succeed.”

“Yeah,” Brock said, “wait, what the hell are you saying?”

“I let Loki down easy, poor little bug,” she said.

“Poor little...are you fucking serious?” Brock said. “He’s a genocidal wannabe dictator. He brainwashed Clint Barton and Erik Selvig. He unleashed aliens on New York!” He put his coffee cup down a little roughly.

“He was being influenced by that Tesseract dealie and torture in another realm, he wasn’t himself during the New York thing,” Darcy said. “You’d understand if you knew him better. Even in New Mexico, all he wanted was his dad’s love and respect. He just sorta stranded Thor and the Warriors Three here because they got in the way, you know? He tried not to kill Thor at first. His head was all scrambly. He had this whole plan to wipe out Jotunheim, but I’m sure it was all a big freaking mess, like emotionally, because he came up with it to impress Odin and _then_ realized he was an actual facts Frost Giant.”

“Do you fucking hear yourself?” Brock said. “The excuses you’re making? Huh?”

“Are you going to tell me you don’t do the same thing for Gilly?” Darcy said. Oh, fuck, Brock thought. She had him cornered. Something in his expression must have given him away, because Darcy grinned. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Now he gets it.”

“That’s still no fucking reason to get engaged to him,” Brock said defensively. “You doing this to what, teach me a goddamn lesson? Punish me or some shit? Because what you saw today with Gilly, that wasn’t what it looked like. We weren’t fooling around. ”

“Okay, if you say that, I believe you. But you have to believe me, too. Look, if you’d seen his face, you’d know why I couldn’t say no flat out, okay? He would have been crushed. He had a genuine moment of vulnerability! For him, that’s a good thing. Reality will set in tomorrow and he’ll panic and take it back, I swear. That’s his pattern. Two steps forward, one step whatever. But you can’t quash the vulnerability, ‘cause that’s his big moment of growth.”

“You can’t, uh, quash the vulnerability?” Brock said. He started to laugh. “Jesus Christ. Do you actually believe that?”

“Yes,” Darcy said.

“Bullshit,” he said.

“What?” she said. Her diamonds sparkled in the light from his desk lamp as she leaned forward to look at him.

“I call bullshit,” he said. “I saw your face just now.” He rubbed his jaw. “You thought I’d picked Gilly. You did. That’s the only reason you said yes to him. You love me so damn much that you rebounded with that crazy-eyed motherfucker the second you thought I’d chosen somebody else.” He chuckled. “You’re just as bad off as I am.”

“Shut up,” Darcy said. She was blushing. “As a technical note, I never agreed to marry anybody,” she said. “I just said I’d consider a possible role as an Asgardian beloved at some ambiguous future date.”

“Yeah?” he said. “I don’t think you get to contemplate being somebody else’s beloved when you’re still my beloved. I choose you, you got that?”

“Are you like, asserting a claim? Like I’m a gold mine?” Darcy said, sounding incredulous.

“Uh-huh,” he said, rising up out of his chair. In a moment, he’d pulled her to her feet and was sucking on that pouty bottom lip. He worked his way down the line of her jaw. “You going to object?” he asked.

“Mmmmh, no,” she said in his ear. Her neck was soft and flushed against his mouth. He unhooked the diamond necklace and put it on the desk, still kissing her.

“You ready?” he asked. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Wait? Ahh! What are you doing?” Darcy said, shrieking as he lifted her over his shoulder.

“Taking you to bed, sweetheart,” he said, patting her ass. “This is a good dress. I’m not letting it go to waste.” Carefully, he turned and left the office. He didn’t want her to hit her head.

 

“This fireman carry thing is surprisingly fun. Should I pretend to be, like, ‘oh my delicate virtue! You terrible brute!’ or something?” she asked, as he carried her towards the apartments.

“Sure, baby,” he said.

“How did you get so strong, anyway? Are there steroids hidden in your apartment? That HGH stuff that the _Three’s Company_ woman’s always talking about on TV?” Darcy asked.

“I had a little help from Hydra, remember?” he said, sliding his hand up her thigh.

“Ooooh, you sneak. What was that like?” she asked.

“Like getting a flu shot, only about 70% of the other guys died,” he said. They’d been rather twitchy deaths, he remembered. Hydra had run the program in a secret military base in rural Pennsylvania. Near Centralia, the town that had been abandoned because of underground coal fires. His memories had the grim patina of a horror film. He’d faded in and out of consciousness surrounded by men bleeding out of their eyeballs.

“Those are...not good odds,” she said. “Why’d you do it?”

“I succumbed to peer pressure,” he said, carrying her up the stairs. She didn’t need to know all the gory details. Not tonight.

 

He took her straight to the bed. She looked like an upside down flower sitting in the middle of the mattress with her skirt fanning out. He grinned as he stripped down, but her face was serious. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You really don’t want to go back to Gilly? Not even to try?” Darcy asked. “Because I see it, you know? The appeal. She’s a very warm, fun sort of person.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, kissing her shoulder.

“Are you sure?” Darcy asked. “We haven’t been together all that long.”

“I’m very certain,” he said, licking her collarbone. She shivered.

“Shit. I love when you do that,” Darcy said. He grinned.

“You want to know a secret?” he asked her.

“What?” she said. She’d tensed.

“It’s a good one, good secret,” he said, kissing the top of her cleavage. He reached around for the zipper and pulled it down slowly. He worked the top of her dress down.

“Oookay,” she said nervously. “What? What is it?”

“I had a little thing for you first, before I ever met Gilly,” he said. “From your SHIELD file. We called them file fixations as a joke at headquarters. Different people got voted File Fixation of the Month. Sort of like babe of the month? Thor won a lot with the HR floor, since it was mostly women and, uh, the Sif chick was really popular with the guys in Weapons. Jane had the hearts of half of R&D, but I voted for you. Taser Girl. That was your SHIELD nickname, since we weren’t supposed to put real names in the game. This was right after New Mexico. They tried to make me vote for other people when there were ties to break, so I boycotted after a few months, didn’t play anymore. You can ask Jack.”

“You hadn’t even met me!” Darcy said.

“Phil’s surveillance photographers are really good. Especially with attractive targets. The way you used to bend over that mini fridge in Puente Antiguo in that brown sweater? I was so jealous of that fucking sweater, sweetheart,” he said. He kissed her breasts.

“That’s so weird. Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, laughing.

“I’d sort of forgotten until you mentioned tasing Thor. I wasn’t focused on your real name,” he said, grinning.

“You perv,” she teased. “You objectified me without knowing my actual name! I was just Taser Girl!”

“In my defense, you looked different when you got here and I thought it might scare you off if I immediately confessed that I wanted to have sex with you in just the sweater. Where is it, anyway?” he asked. 

“New York,” she said, sounding sad. “Oooh,” she said. “Can we get this skirt off?”

“Yeah,” he said, licking his lips. “Lay back and I’ll lift your hips, baby.”

 

Once he’d gotten the dress off, he kissed the tops of her thighs. “You wanna pass me a condom?” he asked, as he slid her panties down slowly.

“What if I wore a different sweater?” she asked suddenly.

“I’ll get one,” he said, grinning. He picked out a oversize grey sweater with a hole in the sleeve.

“Oh my God, that’s the saddest sweater I own,” she said. “I cut the collar out. This turns you on?”

“Yeah,” he said, watching her put it on.

“Whyyyyy?” she said, in something like her Whiny Tourist Darcy voice. “It’s not even lingerie!”

“Uh-huh,” he said, running his hand down her bare leg. “It’s like I’ve surprised you in Puente Antiguo and all you had time to do is throw on that sweater, baby.”

“Oh my God, you have entire fantasies about this, don’t you?” she said.

“Mostly dreams about knocking on the door of that car dealership or whatever it was and having you answer the door in something like that. And then impulsively screwing you on some of Foster’s bonkers scientific equipment,” he said, grinning.

“The walls in that building were all glass!” she said.

“Yeah, I wasn’t really focused on that when it was all happening in my dreams, sweetheart,” he said.

“You’re living the dream,” she said, dissolving into laughter and throwing a condom at him.

“Yeah, I am,” he said, putting it on. He climbed on top of her, gently lowering her head back onto the pillow. He kissed her and she spread her knees around his hips.

“Ughhhhff,” she moaned, when he was inside her. “Oh my God, you’re really into this?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. He hadn’t really imagined the softness of her worn out sweater against his chest and the contrast between that and the bareness of both their legs. Skin-on-skin and fabric-on-skin at once. “This feel good to you?” he asked, moving faster.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, biting her lip. He loved when she made that face in bed: pupils wide, face flushed and sweaty, lips bitten. He pushed himself harder. “Oh God, oh God,” she moaned in response. He felt her spasm beneath him.

“So good, baby, so good,” he muttered. He jerked his hips with a final, shuddering thrust and she looked up at him with a spellbound expression.

“You chose me,” she whispered.

“Yeah, I did,” he said, kissing her face slowly.

 

***

 

Darcy was toasting Pop Tarts one morning that week when Loki shimmered into being on one of her kitchen island chairs. “Loki!” she said, startled. Brock was in her shower. It would be awkward if Brock strolled out naked. Hot, but awkward.

“Hello, darling,” he said. He made a sad face at her.

“What happened, little bug?” she said.

“I’m afraid there have been...complications,” he said. He was making a particular face.

“Would those complications be called Odin?” Darcy said, hiding her smile. He’d never had to break bad news to a girl before, she guessed.

“I’m afraid so,” he said, sighing. “He _can_ take my powers. You were correct. If he finds out I’m here, he has threatened to exile me to something called a coal mine? Just where is Kentucky on Midgard?”

“Oh, no, not the coal mines,” Darcy said. “You wouldn’t do well there, sweetie.”

“He said they were as black as my heart,” Loki said, looking at the ceiling. He sighed and steepled his fingers.

“That seems kinda unfair,” Darcy said. Her toaster popped. “Pop Tart?” she offered. “It’s unicorn. They’re limited edition. Here, you take the one with the pretty unicorn, I’ll take the boring text one.”

“Thank you,” he said. He fiddled with the edge of his. “Where do Midgardians keep their unicorns? I’ve never seen one in my travels.”

“Oh, they’re totally mythical,” Darcy said. He sighed again. “Was it that bad?” Darcy asked him. “Big father son fight?”

“Odin became quite...unpleasantly insulting when he asked Heimdall for a report on your past activities and, uh, friends,” Loki said. ”He was unkind. My mother was quite incensed,” he said. “She was looking forward to seeing you again? Apparently, she and my father have subsequently had several fights on the subject of double standards?”

“Double standards?” Darcy asked. “Like our kind of double standard?”

“Yes, I believe that is a term you use? They are engaged in a sometimes fierce debate regarding rules about a lady’s virtue versus that of her warrior husband? Odin may have miscalculated,” he said, “considering the rumors that he has had to sleep on the divan in his study for many days now.”

“Oh, noes,” Darcy said. She cringed. “Did Heimdall tell him about spring break in Daytona? I really thought there were no cameras when I did those Jell-O shots.” Loki grinned and his eyes lit up.

“No,” he said mischievously. “Heimdall must have been somewhat discreet. But I’d love to know?” He leaned forward on the palm of his hand. “You can tell me. All your secrets would be safe.”

“Nope, nope, nope,” Darcy sing-songed. “Too embarrassing. But never do Jell-O shots. Even if you love green, you don’t want to puke it for days, okay?”

“Yes,” he said, sighing. “This is the kind of good counsel I could have used from you. Why my fa--Odin thinks I need to marry Var Thrymdottir, I don’t know,” he said. “She’s dreadfully calm. Her favorite things are loom weaving and needlework.”

“Your mom’s needlework is very beautiful,” Darcy offered.

“Yes, but that’s magical needlework. Var does all hers by hand,” he said, looking horrified. “Hours and hours, she sits with it. Painstaking stuff. She sent me a scarf,” Loki said, pulling it out of his pocket. “This is her loom work.”

“Loki, it’s stunning,” Darcy said, examining the gold and green threads. “Is Var pretty?” He sighed.

“She’s stunning,” he said glumly. “My father has said he will mandate the banns if I continue to pursue a ‘demeaning alliance with a Midgardian wenc--woman’ at best or strip me of my powers and send me to Kentucky at worst. He knows I want neither. Anyhow, I’m afraid that means that I, uh, can’t see you…” He sighed.

“Loki, it’s okay,” Darcy said, patting his hand. “I sort of guessed I wasn’t Odin’s idea of a good daughter-in-law. He called Jane a goat!”

“That was unfair. Especially if you or Jane knew what an Asgardian goat looked like,” he said, biting into a Pop Tart corner.

“How many horns?” Darcy asked.

“Three,” he said. “And they tend to be a little cross-eyed.”

“Ouch,” Darcy said. She squeezed his hand. “It’ll be okay. I knew it wouldn’t work. You have too many responsibilities in Asgard to take me on as a burden.”

“You wouldn’t have been a burden,” he said softly.

“I repeat: he called Jane a goat,” Darcy said. They sat in silence for a bit.

“This isn’t bad,” he told her, eating another section of Pop Tart. He was a delicate, well-mannered eater, Darcy thought. Much more graceful and dainty than she was. He could probably teach the coal miners etiquette.

“Cherry flavor,” Darcy supplied.

“I am sorry,” he said. “How can I make it up to you? Would you like a unicorn?”

“God, that would be great, but I don’t have room for it here. When Tony moves us upstate, though…” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t mind one then?” Darcy said.

“One day you shall,” he said, perking up. “But I cannot leave you without something? More emeralds?” he said.

“I do like them, but won’t that scream ‘Loki’s bit of stuff’ if I ever do go to Asgard?” Darcy said. “Could cause tension.”

“Too right,” Loki said. “What color?”

“Sapphires?” Darcy offered.

“Pedestrian,” Loki said. “Everyone has them.”

“Rubies?” Darcy said.

“They’ll think you’re Thor’s bit of stuff,” he said wickedly. They debated the merits of amethysts or paraiba tourmalines, but couldn’t come to an accord. “Perhaps I’ve exhausted the potential for jewels? Besides, I hear that you prefer Mr. Rumlow’s earrings to a certain suite of emeralds we shan’t discuss?” he teased.

“How’d you know?” Darcy asked.

“The man in the shower was a clue,” he said. Seeing her face, he winked. “It’s all right, Darcy,” he said. “If I can’t have you, I’d like you to be happy. Besides, I _never_ expected you to be a virginal maid. Would have rather ruined my fun if you lacked a sense of adventure. He does care for you, by the way.”

“What did you do?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, I asked Heimdall. Nothing happened between him and that woman. She left straightaway the other night, too. Although she is interesting,” he mused, a gleam in his eye. Darcy laughed.

“I called her a female you once, she supposedly has great stories,” Darcy said. “It’s disturbing to think Heimdall knows when you’re boinking, though.” Loki grinned.

“Oh, yes,” he said, “probably in detail. My father never let me apprentice on the Bifrost like I wanted when I was young. He thought it might corrupt my young mind to be able to see all the naked ladies and gentlemen in the Nine Realms.” Darcy burst out laughing. “What?” he said.

“I’m imagining baby you as a peeping Tom!” she said. When she’d gained control of her laughter, she asked him a serious question. “Could Var Thyrmdottir make you happy?” Darcy asked him. “You know you want your father’s approval.” He shrugged elegantly.

“I doubt it,” he said.

Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Sif?” she said.

“Heavens above and hell below,” he said. “You’d have me married to a woman who could kill me?”

“I’m fairly sure your mother could take out your father, only she loves him too much. Besides, I get vibes from Sif. Jane even said something,” Darcy said.

“Vibes?” he asked.

“A smidge of curiosity, possibly some jealousy?” Darcy said, grinning.

“She does not care for me,” Loki said. “I have been rebuffed by that woman for centuries. She prefers Thor.”

“No freaking way, my dude. I saw her face when we sat together in that mead hall the last time we visited. She looked at us together every 5 seconds. I have a feeling that Var Thyrmdottir could shake up her game, if you want to test my theory?” Darcy said. He gave her a full, wicked smile, looking entirely himself again.

“You are the most wondrous woman. I truly am fond of you,” he said.

“Yup,” Darcy said, “but you’d make a terrible coal miner and I’m terrified just imagining our children.”

“Children?” he said, quailing. “I had not thought of that.”

“I had,” Darcy teased. He looked paler, if that was possible.

“You did?” he asked.

“Uh-huh. Except I thought you’d be a powerless waiter in New Mexico, not a Kentucky coal miner and we’d have five little hellions with blue eyes and a tendency to play pranks and set things on fire.”

“Oh,” he said, looking nervous.

“None of the child locks would work and I’d have to be the disciplinarian, because you’d spoil them rotten and I’d be all bedraggled because of our poverty.”

“That doesn’t sound as fun as I thought,” he admitted. She shook her head.

“Nope,” she said.

“Perhaps we’re better off as friends?” he offered.

“I agree,” Darcy said. “The best of friends.” She squeezed his hand.

“Yes,” he said softly.  They looked at each other for a minute. His expression was soft. “I _am_ capable of caring,” he said.

“I know that,” she said. “You always notice when I’m down and help me out.”

“I do?” he said. She nodded. “I do, don’t I?”

“Yup,” she told him.

“So much for that black heart,” he said, looking suddenly resolved. “My father’s wrong about me, isn’t he?” Darcy beamed and he smiled back at her.

“Ahhhh, did we just have a significant moment of clarity? I think we did!” Darcy said. She clapped. “Thank you Oprah!”

“I watched Oprah the other day,” he said, leaning forward. “Tony Stark actually wept when she gave money to Midgardian schoolchildren.”

“Did you get blackmail photos?” Darcy said.

“Of course,” he said, a naughty edge in his voice.

“Excellent!” Darcy said.

“I still owe you a gift,” he said.

“You really don’t have to,” Darcy told him.

“Nonsense. I have manners,” he said.

“You do! It makes me feel like a big clod actually. I think if we got married, you’d have to be the bride,” Darcy said. He snorted.

“A veil, perhaps?” He magicked himself up a mantilla.

“That’s actually cute. Ugh, I can’t marry you, you’re too pretty!” Darcy said.

“Marry the old man then,” he teased. “He’s not prettier than me.” He winked.

“Bad Loki!” Darcy said. They heard the shower cut off.

“I suppose that’s my cue,” he said. “Ah, I have an idea. Close your eyes, darling.”  She felt his lips brush her forehead sweetly and then she opened her eyes.

 

She was alone in the kitchen. Darcy looked around, checking for stray unicorns. That was when she realized Loki had snagged the rest of her Pop-Tart box. She grinned. “Sneaky little bug,” she said aloud. Fondly. She really did love him--having read her terms and conditions, she understood that it could never be unconditional love.

 

Brock came out of the bathroom whistling, wrapped in a towel. “What happened?” he asked.

“How’d you know?” she said. “Loki was here. Odin is threatening to strip his powers and either send him to the coal mines of Kentucky or make him marry an Asgardian lady who does needlework. He can’t see me anymore.”

“Has something to do with the sign taped to your back that says ‘check under your bed,’ sweetheart,” Brock said.

“Oh Dear God, I hope he didn’t stick a unicorn under there,” she said. “He swiped my unicorn Pop Tarts, he must like them,” Darcy said.

“I’ll look,” Brock said, crouching down. Darcy admired the muscles in his back. “It’s a box, baby,” he said, sliding it out. “Should we open it or just call Phil?”

“Call Phil?” Darcy said, confused. “Why?”

“He gives people snakes, right?” Brock said.

“Not me. Well, not since the first one. I pulled some of his hair out,” Darcy told Brock.

“All right, I’ll open it,” he said. “Stay back.”

“Don’t be paranoid,” Darcy said, sinking down on the floor next to the box. She unlatched it and lifted the lid. It was almost like a luggage trunk. “Oh em gee!” she said. The top layer of the box held several blue canisters with yellow plastic lids. “Cheese Balls!” she yelled. “They stopped making these. And Calypso Chips! They’re both discontinued. I mean, like years ago. I wonder how he found them?”

“They’re got fresh expiration dates,” Brock said quizzically.

“Cooool,” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” he said, eyebrow still raised.

“Oh my gosh, Mr. Monkey!” She squealed. “This is my childhood sock monkey. I thought I lost him forever when we left New Mexico. I lost those socks and that book then, too. My sunglasses! I thought a drunk girl stole them. Ahhhhh, my Rachel bracelet.  It was a birthday present. My aunt Rachel gave it to me when I was little? See the little hearts? I wore it everyday for years. I thought it broke and fell off somehow, but it looks fine now.” It was a delicate chain with three tiny hearts. “Wow. This is a lost and found box, Brock. Everything in here is something I thought I’d never see again.”

“That’s really thoughtful of the batshit crazy dictator?” he offered wryly.

“Stoooooop,” Darcy said, swatting at him. “Oh my gosh! This is L by Lolita Lempicka, I wore this at Culver. It was discontinued years ago.” She held up the blue bottle with golden netting and little sea charms. “Smell this,” she said spritzing her arm. Brock leaned forward. He inhaled.

“Snickerdoodle cookies?” he said. “But sexy? What the fuck?”

"I know! It's great, right? I can't believe he did such a nice thing," she said. Brock rolled his eyes.

"He's a brainwashing murder alien," he said.

"Did you or did you not write a secret report to Nick Fury wanting to spring Bucky Barnes from Hydra?" she asked sternly. Brock and Jack had pushed for an extraction plan for the Winter Soldier. Fury had vetoed it as too unsafe.

"Yeah," he admitted. "But Loki is  _weird._  Why do women always think he's attractive?"

"We all just want to snuggle him and love him, babe," Darcy said. "How'd you know women like him?"  
  
"He was File Fixation for roughly 25% of SHIELD's female employees. Phil was not happy," Brock said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm keeping Frigga alive in this AU because her death depresses the heck out of me.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of Obnoxious Tourist Couple Brock & Darcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Y'all are the best readers!

“Hey,” Brock said, as they were curled up in bed that night. “I have to stake out Darlene in Port Angeles tomorrow. You wanna go with me?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “Still haven’t seen her yet.”

“Mmm, good,” Brock said, nuzzling her. “You smell like cinnamon.”

“Are you coming around to Loki?” Darcy said teasingly.

“He’s all right, princess,” Brock said, “but I don’t wanna fuck him.”

“I think you’re experiencing bleed over from Obnoxious Tourist Brock,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “You feel like pretending to be my annoying girlfriend?”

“I’m pretending?” Darcy said archly, as he ran his hands down her back.

“I think we need to practice the getting along part, just to nail down our characters, baby,” he said, shifting her so she was on top of him.

“Again?” she said in a mock-whiny voice.

“Oh, at least a few more times,” he said.

 

***

They were pretending to argue in another Port Angeles restaurant. “You’re such an asshole!” Darcy shrieked.

“Yeah, well, you don’t mind so much when the bill comes due, do you, princess?” he shot back. They were being so loud that the other diners turned to stare at them. Including Darlene.

“I can’t believe that’s _her_. Totally not what I was expecting. She looks so normal,” Darcy said in a low voice. Darlene was a plain-looking brunette. No makeup, no big jewelry or nails. She seemed almost, well, nondescript to Darcy. At best, you might think she was blandly wholesome. Hardly a siren.

“Did you think she would look like a movie star? In Forks?” Brock asked quietly, giving her a look. He was wearing a particularly obnoxious shirt. Ed Hardy. Darcy wondered if he ordered them from somewhere online. Was there a tacky guy boutique that delivered?

“I thought there would be something,” Darcy whispered.

“She’s got a good voice,” Brock said in his normal tone. “It’s very attractive, actually.”

“What?” Darcy said. “A what?”

“I’m just paying somebody a compliment, what’s your problem?” he said in his Obnoxious Brock voice.

“You’ve been paying attention to that, huh?” Darcy said sharply, not entirely in her Tourist persona. “Just how good is it, babe?”

“It’s very good,” he said back. He grinned wolfishly. “That bother you, princess? You jealous or something?” he asked.

“No,” she pouted.

“Well, you better be careful, if you don’t treat me nice, maybe somebody else will,” he said. “Who’d keep your car running then?” he snarked.

“You haven’t kept my motor running in years!” Darcy snapped, flushed. She was irritated that he was even pretending to be interested in the femme fatale of Forks.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Brock said lethally.

“You know exactly what it means!” Darcy hissed. They bickered all throughout dinner and into the parking lot as they followed Darlene and the guy to a Port Angeles hotel.

 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he said, when she shrugged off his touch in the truck after dinner.

“Nothing,” Darcy murmured, as they watched Darlene and her newest boyfriend go into the hotel room. They were both quiet for a second; all she could hear was the sound of the windshield wipers. It was drizzly out tonight.

“Bullshit,” Brock said. “You’re upset. You’re actually upset? About Darlene?” he said astonished. “You’re jealous of her?”

“Her voice is _so good_ ,” Darcy said pettily. “How could I not be?” Brock burst out laughing.

“Oh, baby,” he said. “Baby. This is too funny,” he said.

“Bite me,” Darcy said, crossing her arms.

“Oh, I want to,” he said, deepening his voice. He slid his arms around her stomach. “I never got the whole vamp fetish until I met you, sweetheart. Now I get it,” he said. He sucked at her neck.

“Brock,” she said, torn between attraction and irritation.

“Darcy?” he said back, laughing. “Tell me why you’re so jealous of Miss Forked-All-of-Forks, honey?” He ran his tongue behind her ear and she shivered and squeezed her knees together.

“You were serious,” Darcy said, feeling pouty. “You actually like her voice.”

“It’s a nice voice,” he said. “But it’s nothing to your, well, everything, sweetheart.” He kissed her and pulled her into his lap. He kissed her other ear and then moved his hands below her waistline.

“What are you doing?” Darcy said.

“Unbuttoning your jeans,” he said.

“There are lights in this parking lot,” she said, as he unzipped her pants.

“Uh-huh,” he said, easing the jeans down over her hips.

“Brock,” she said, “we’re not fifteen, we don’t have to have sex in cars.”

“You saying you don’t want to?” he asked. “Cause Darlene might be impressed by my bench seats.”

“Shut up, you schmuck,” she said. “Help me lay down, I don’t want to moon this parking lot.”

“I get that job, huh?” he said, sliding his hands over her ass.

“Yeah,” she said, breathing a little more rapidly as he eased her down against the vinyl seats. He unbuttoned his pants and grinned at her.

“You’re jealous of Darlene,” he said, shaking his head and laughing.

“Shut up and show me how much you like my everything, you jerk,” she said.

 

A few minutes later, he stopped. “Sweetheart,” he said, “there’s something I want to say. I, uh, wanted to ask you something,” he said.

“You want to ask me something?” she said. Darcy kissed his neck. “Right now, with my pants around my knees in your truck?”

“Uh-huh,” he said. The timing, weirdly, felt good. Right. “I want you--” he said, then paused.

“You want me to what?” she said.

“Stay,” he said, “stay with me, Darcy?”

“Stay?” she said. “In Forks?”

 

Neither of them noticed the Port Angeles squad car until the cop inside flashed his lights.

“Oh, shit,” Brock said. His partner wrapped on the truck window.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to arrest you both,” the cop said through the glass. Even the cops were polite this close to the Canadian border, Darcy thought.

 

***

 

“She called you?” Brock said, when the other man came into the room in the police station. “Jack’s already on his way.”

“Actually, I was coming to see you,” Phil Coulson said, pulling out a chair. He sat down, threaded his hands together, and sighed.

“What?” Brock said. “You’ve gotten me out of worse. Remember Beirut?”

“That’s how you’re playing this?” Phil asked. “Really? Public nudity and lewd conduct? Darcy Lewis is almost young enough to be your daughter.”

“Phil, I’m not that old,” Brock said.

“No?” Phil said.

“We’re the same age, asshole,” Brock said, fidgeting uncomfortably. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“Shouldn’t you be?” Phil said.

“I--we’re, uh, it’s a thing, Phil,” Brock said.

“A thing?” Phil said, leaning back.

“A relationship,” Brock said.

“You never thought I was stupid before,” Phil said. “I’m a little insulted.”

“I’m serious,” Brock said. Phil started to laugh.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I’m going to go fish Darcy out of the Port Angeles drunk tank, before your very serious girlfriend gets thrown up on.”

“Phil,” Brock said when the other man had reached the door, “thank you.”

“You’re thanking me now? You do have it bad,” Phil said. He shook his head.

“What?” Brock said defensively.

“Just when I think I’m incapable of being surprised at work…” Phil said, shutting the door behind him.

 

“Shit,” Brock muttered, looking at the ceiling. At least they’d let him put his pants back on.

 

***

“Phil!” Darcy said. “I’d be fainting of shame, but the oxygenated booze in the air is a stimulant,” she joked. “Also, I’m glad to see you.”

“I hear you had an interesting evening,” he said, leading her into another room.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “This is legitimately the first time I’ve ever been mistaken for a lady of the night. It’s kind of exciting. Jane and I are going to have so much fun making Steve blush about this.”

Phil shook his head. “You really shouldn’t do that to Captain Rogers,” he said.

“Phil, you’ve got to start treating Steve like a real guy if you want to be friends,” Darcy said.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that,” Phil said, looking faintly horrified.

“I’ve totally helped him do laundry, he’s a normal dude,” Darcy said. “These hands”--she did jazz hands--”have folded the khakis of el capitàn. And the only reason I don’t know if he’s a boxers or briefs guy is because he won’t let me help with the socks and underwear, my dude. I suspect they’re all white, though.”

“Oh,” Phil said, blushing.

“This is too much information for you, isn’t it?” Darcy said.

“Uh-huh,” Phil told her.

“Where’s Brock, anyway? Did he call you?” she asked.

“No,” Phil said. “I wanted to talk to you, actually. We had another HYDRA incursion onto our European support team. I need a female agent.”

“You want my help?” Darcy said.

“Jack says you’re pretty good at surveillance and distraction,” Phil said. “We need someone who won’t stand out as an American tourist in Paris.”

“You want me to go to Paris with the Bus team?” Darcy said, stunned.

“Yeah,” Phil said. “But we’d primarily use you to distract targets while Skye bugs them and their equipment.”

“When?” she asked.

“Tonight, unless that’s a problem?” he said carefully.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “But I have one condition.”

“A condition?” he asked.

“Well, technically, two,” Darcy said. “But it’s no biggie, I swear. It’ll be perfect. How soon can you get us out of here? I need to pack.”

 

***

 

Back in Forks, Brock left Phil with Jack and headed upstairs to the apartments. He found Darcy packing. “Hey,” she said brightly.

“Hi,” he said back, leaning against the doorframe. He was utterly in love with her, he realized. Gilly had been right. She was good for him. And now she was leaving. It fucking sucked, he thought. The oddness of the pun almost made him laugh. Or, it would have, if he didn’t have a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Do I need a jacket in Paris this time of year?” Darcy asked him suddenly.

“I’m not sure,” Brock said. “Take a light one, just in case.”

“Are you ready?” Darcy said.

“What?” he said.

“You’ve got your go-bag? I’m leaving most of my stuff, but you can move anything you don’t want the new roomie to see into my place,” Darcy said.

“I don’t understand,” Brock said.

“I made sure Jack would get a new business partner. I think they’ll get along great, but he needs your apartment,” she said. “Contact lens solution! I almost forgot. What else am I forgetting?” she said out loud.

“My apartment?” Brock said.

“Yeah. Did you think I was leaving you behind? You’re coming, too. We’re going to have hotel sex in a European capital, babe,” she said, swinging a bag over her shoulder. “C’mon, Phil’s ready,” she said, taking him by the arm. He stared at her. “Have you seen Lola yet?” she asked him.

“Who?” Brock said.

“Oooooh, you haven’t?” Darcy said. “Can you hotwire a car, by any chance?”

“I, uh--” Brock said.

 

“Mate,” Jack called from downstairs, “don’t worry about your things, I’ll move them into Darcy’s. I got your go-bag, too. Already in the car!”

“Jack, you’re the best!” Darcy said, pulling Brock along as she descended the staircase. “We’re going to miss you so much!” She hugged a waiting Jack at the front office door.

“We are?” Brock said. “We are,” he repeated when he reached Jack. The Australian hugged him goodbye.

“Have fun, mate,” he said, laughing at Brock’s dazed expression. “Try not to get arrested. I’ll see you soon enough. Headed out to Greece with Roger for a few weeks in the fall, but otherwise, I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” Brock said, gripping his shoulder for a second. “Thanks, Jack.”

“We really will miss you,” Darcy said. “But I’ve got my tablet, so we’ll Stark-skype as soon as we get there. Keep you updated.”

 

They stepped outside. Phil was standing in front of a very red, very nice convertible. Jack whistled. “Nice car, Phil!” he said.

“I know,” Phil said. He looked at Brock and Darcy and opened the passenger door. “I always drive and no having sex in my car,” he said.

“We totally will,” Darcy whispered in Brock’s ear, as Phil went around to the driver’s side.

“I heard that,” Phil said.

Brock waved goodbye at Jack and put his arm around Darcy. He was still slightly confused. “This is going to be so much fun,” Darcy said. “We get to be the Obnoxious Couple in Europe!”

“Where the history comes from,” Phil said dryly.

“He stole that from Eddie Izzard,” she said.

 

***

“What the fuck is this? You put an egg on my pizza?” Brock said to the waiter. “A fucking egg? Do you see this? This is why I wanted to go to Italy, babe,” he said, pronouncing the name of the country as “it-lee.” Darcy rolled her eyes.

“Will you stop complaining? All you do is complain!” Darcy whined. “First, you complain about the ice--”

“There’s no ice in my fucking Coca-Cola, I’m gonna complain,” Brock said obnoxiously.

“Then you complain about your hair--” she said.

“Fucking French outlet shorted out my dryer, babe,” he said. “Now my hair’s all fucked to shit.”

“I told you to use the converter! You didn’t use the converter!” she said.

 

From inside the van, Phil looked at FitzSimmons and sighed. “I think they might be too good at this,” he said.

“What have you done?” Fitz asked.

“I think it’s kind of cute,” Simmons said. “Where’s Skye?”

“Planting the bug,” May said from the driver’s seat. “The target is too busy staring at them arguing to notice Skye.”

“I didn’t actually believe Jack,” Phil said. Through his comms device, he could hear Darcy and Brock still arguing.

 

“I’m just saying, Amalfi Coast, babe!” he said. “It’d be fucking cheaper than this.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care. Just fucking propose already, I’m tired of waiting,” Darcy whined. “I thought you were going to propose last night!”

“Oh, yeah, cause the Eiffel Tower’s real romantic at night when the cops chase away the souvenir sellers, right? Compared to Italy, this country--” he was saying.

“Aghhh!” Darcy screeched. “Don’t you dare mention the Roman Empire. That is not the point!”

“I’m not proposing to you when you use that tone with me,” Brock said. “You know what Dr. Curtis said about good communication. Use your words, babe.”

“I’ve got some words I can use--” Darcy said.

 

Phil cut off his comms when Skye climbed back in the van. “It’s done,” Skye said.

“Is someone going to tell them to stop?” Fitz asked, gesturing in the direction of Brock and Darcy.

“I kinda want to know how long they can go for,” Skye said.

“I clocked them at forty-eight minutes yesterday,” Simmons said brightly.

“Forty-eight minutes,” Phil said, sighing.

 

***

Jack opened the front door when the other man knocked. “Welcome to Forks!” he said warmly.

“So, this is Vampireville?” the man said, scratching his head. He peered around the office.

“It’s just a nice small town with a little tourist problem,” Jack said. “Look.” Out the window, there was a group of laughing tourists carrying another cut-out Edward. Two of the women started to argue over who got to carry the sparkly cut-out.

“Huh,” the man said. “Aren’t they a little old for teen vampires?” he asked Jack.

“Oh, it’s mostly Twilight moms now. Just wait until you’re here for Margarita Night,” Jack said. “Otherwise, the locals are loggers and hikers. Lots of outdoorsy people. Darcy said you liked to meditate?”

“Yeah, she said I would like this place,” the other man said. “Something about it being restful?”

“Oh, yeah, bonzer place for it. I go up to the Olympic National Park several times a week,” Jack said. “Very peaceful. Very green. I think you’ll like it, Dr. Banner.”

“Please, call me Bruce,” the other man said. “Green, huh? Maybe I will be able to blend in.” He smiled.

  
THE END


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue for those who wonder about Mr. Fishy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

Epilogue

 

“It was entirely an accident. I knocked over the flakes of the can,” Thor said, as they got on the elevator. “I am sorry. When do they return from their missions with the Son of Coul?”

“She’s coming back tomorrow with Rumlow,” Loki said. “Tomorrow! I promised her that I’d keep an eye on Mr. Fishy and I have failed utterly. This is all your fault, you great oaf. You lunkhead, you fool--”

“Can you not magic him back?” Thor asked plaintively.

“What if it causes a disaster?” Loki said. “I dare not! She loves him too much.”

“What are we to do?” Thor said, looking sad.

“I will ask Var. Var will know,” Loki said.

“Are you sure you want to marry her?” Thor asked, his tone turning curious. “I know it would please father, but--”

“Of course,” Loki said. “I would not have asked, if I did not. Why?”

“No reason,” Thor said, looking up at the ceiling.

“She is most skilled. She will know what to do,” Loki said.

 

As they entered the room, Var lifted her beautiful head from her loomwork and stood. The loom clicked on without her. “Hello, my love,” she said in a smooth, pleasing voice. She really was quite striking, Thor though, as those big, knowing eyes appraised them both. An unusual beauty. Compelling. Even though he found her terrifying. 

 

“My darling, I’m afraid there has been an accident with Mr. Fishy,” Loki said fretfully. “I cannot magic him back myself, but I thought that you might be able to assist.”

“Me?” Var said, “I’m sure my magic is nothing to yours, my prince.”

“Nonsense,” Loki said, “you are so naturally talented, no one on Asgard is even aware of your magic. You are leagues beyond me,” he said admiringly.

Var practically purred. “You flatter me,” she said. “I shall grow vain when we are married.”

“Will you go look at him?” Loki said.

“Of course,” Var said. They swept elegantly out of the room.

 

Thor, alone, looked at the still-working loom and chuckled. “She will eat him alive,” he said out loud.

“Pardon me, your royal highness?” the AI said.

“My brother has finally found a woman who can outfox him,” Thor said. “There will be fireworks during that marriage, of this I am certain.”

 

Down in Tony’s second, spare pool house--this one dated to Howard’s era and was decorated with gilt and Tiffany glass--Var and Loki walked along the edge of the sea blue water. “Oh dear,” Var said. “What transpired?”

“Thor knocked over an entire can of the fish food,” Loki said. “He is huge now.”

“Ten feet, yes?” Var said. “Or is it closer to twelve?”

“She’s going to murder me!” Loki said. “I promised I would not let Thor overfeed him and now he is the size of a shark.”

“But he is quite vegetarian?” Var asked. “He would not do anyone harm at this size?”

“Quite harmless,” Loki said. “He is a good fellow.” 

 

Mr. Fishy paused in his swimming and bubbled at them. Loki sighed. Var looked carefully at the extremely large goldfish and tilted her head. Her expression grew canny. “Well?” Loki said.

 

“I think you should leave him,” she said. “He is quite a good fellow as you say, he appears to like this size, and the atmosphere is more decorative for it. He fits in well with this,” Var said. She gestured towards the amber-toned glass windows. “Darcy will perhaps like to swim with him,” she said.

 

Loki sighed with relief. “You think so?” he asked.

 

“Of course,” Var said calmly. “You must not run about so, panicking to and fro. Sometimes it is wiser to do nothing.” She patted his arm. Then she leaned down into the water and ran her hand over Mr. Fishy’s golden back. The fish bubbled back at her cheerfully. “You see?” Var said. “He is rather happier as a large goldfish. Also, he tells me that he finds the smells from the lab floor rather distressing and dislikes the explosions. He is quite content as a decorative goldfish,” she said. “He will tell Darcy so.”

 

They both watched as Mr. Fishy circled the pool happily. “My darling,” Var said suddenly. “Perhaps we should discuss wedding colors? I know you prefer green and I the copper that is my father’s shade, but this room gives me the idea that a fine, deep teal would harmonize between them very well.”

 

“Teal?” Loki said. 

 

“Teal deepening to emerald?” Var offered, as she guided him away.  “Imagine,” she said, gesturing with her free arm. A piece of glowing fabric appeared in her hand. It was an ombre bolt of blues and greens, laced with copper embroidery.

 

“Is it quite fine,” Loki said agreeably. Var’s magical embroidery tended to dazzle the unwary viewer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Natalie Dormer as Var, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little plot bunny that hopped into my brain--the first scene in ch. 1 of Darcy and Phil in the van.


End file.
